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max ehrmann's 
Poems 






VIOUESNEY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
TERRE HAUTE, IND. 




OtfSs A XX^ ** 






COPYRIGHT, 1906 
<3y VIQUESNEY PUBLISHING CO. 



CONTENTS 



THE CROWDED WORLD 

The Poet's Defense .... 

I Smiled ...... 

Broken Veteran of Commercial Wars 

Babes .....,,. 

Evening Song .... 

Desiderata ..... 

The WoVld's Newborn Today 

I Ponder O'er Love .... 

The Greater Heroism 

The Philosopher's Deliverance 

You Who Wrangle With Me at the Mart 

Passer-By! ...... 

The Dishonored Poet 

To a Poet . . 

Walk Sweetly . . • . 

1 Know ..... 
Home Again 

Kindness ..... 

O Lonely Workers ! ... 

In Youth's Wild Pride 
Where God Is 
You With the Still Soul 
Forget ..... 

In the Hospital .... 

Ships Returning Home 

Two Women .... 

We Sit and Judge 
The Light of a Cheerful Heart 
Tomorrow .... 

Oft in Crowded Mart 



9 

11 

12 

13 

14 

15 

16 

18 

20 

21 

22 

23 

24 

25 

27 

28 

31 

32 

33 

34 

35 

36 

37 

38 

40 

41 

42 

43 

44 

47 



Do You Remember Once Upon a Night 

Who Loves Mankind . 

I Knew a Daughter . . 

To Them That Carry the Light 

Give Me Today ..... 

At the Opera .... 

I Look Over This Wilderness 

The Hate and the Love of the World 

I Sit Afraid ..... 

The Old Magnolia Tree 

As I Returned to the Dim of My Study 

ON THE SHORES OF THE 

Who Entereth Here .... 

The Mountain Top .... 

Goodness ..... 

Progressive Confessional 

The Wall ..... 

Letter to a Solitary .... 

I Sit and Wait .... 

Thou Mother 

Afield ..... 

Dream of Love ! .... 
My Native City .... 
Scorn Not the Inner Song 

An Artist's Prayer . . . . 

At Nightfall ..... 

By the Wabash's Lisping Flow 
The Half-Dream .... 

1 Give Myself for Love 

Revelation ..... 

An Easter Prayer .... 

My Kin . 
Who Sleepeth Here .... 



SKY 



48 
49 
50 
51 
53 
54 
55 
56 
57 
58 
67 



71 
72 
75 
76 
77 
78 
81 
83 
84 
85 
87 
90 
92 
94 
95 
97 
99 
101 
102 
104 
105 



Croesus's Dream . . . 107 

The Voice ... . .108 

A Toast to Sombre Students ..... 109 

Will You Come Back? ..... Ill 

Tell Me ........ 113 

In The Night's Mysterious Stillness . . . 114 

If The Noise of the City ..... 115 

Private Interpretations ..... 116 

Hope ........ 117 

The Poet and The Pirate . . • . . 118 

Dream-Work ....... 121 

Sweet Content !...... 122 

The Dreamer and the Dead ..... 123 

1 Sit and Smile at Myself ..... 124 

My Youth and I ...... 126 

As I Look Into Your Face, O Night! .... 129 

Sleep Sweetly ....... 131 

Something Will Rise In You ..... 132 

Good Night . . . . . . .133 

IN THE GARDENS OF AMOUR 

Yes or No . . . . . . . 136 

To You Who Come at Evening ..... 139 

'Tis Raining Now ...... 140 

After Day ....... 141 

A Woman's Question ...... 142 

Let Pass ....... 143 

The Loves of Other Years . . . . . 144 

The Dream ....... 147 

Where Love Abides ...... 148 

The Bride . . . . t . .150 

A Bachelor's Winter Evening Revery . . . 151 

Tomorrow I'm Away ...... 153 

The Dead Wife ...... 154 



Love's Tragic Convention . 
I At the Dance 
II Verses to a Wedded Sweetheart 

III And Each Passed On 

IV For Neither Dared 

V While a Season Changed 
VI Her Solitude 

VII I Put You Aside 
VIII He Will Come 
IX Upon Neponset's Shore 
When I Come Home 

Beauty ..... 

A Man and a Woman 
I Fling Thee to the Winds . . 

Parting 

To Be With You .... 

Love's Paradox .... 
Spring ..... 

Just As Of Old . 
If You Would Say ... 

The Loveless Marveled 

Heart's Command .... 

I Shall Come to Her 

The One Woman .... 

One of Long Ago 

IN REBELLION 
America ..... 

To the Masters of Men 
Thou That Art Idle Born 
Ego Ipse 

Sunday Night .... 

If You Have Made Gentler the Churlish World 
The Life That Never Dreams 
The Task ..... 



155 



. 


167 


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169 


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170 


. 


171 


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172 


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174 


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175 


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176 


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177 


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179 


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181 


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182 


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183 


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184 


• 


187 


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191 


. 


192 


. 


194 


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196 


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197 


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193 


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199 




200 



The Crowded World 



THE POET'S DEFENSE 

I see you often smile, 
As every little while 
I pass your door, 
A-saying through your hat, 
"What a foolish man is that, 
A-seeking lore!" 

My ear is pricked for sound, 
My head upon the ground 
For many a day; 
And then my wandering eyes 
Are pacing all the skies 
Of starry ray. 

I see you laugh, I know, 
And nudge your partner, so, 
As I go 'long, 

With hands deep in my pants 
A-whistling some old dance 
Or lover's song. 



Let go your pride who smile, 
For every little while 
I'm laughing, too, 
Because, ah me ! you're blind 
And not one star can find 
Nor pearly dew. 

So in our hats we smile, 
And thus life's ills beguile— 
You both at me, 
And I at you, gone mad, 
And all the world's made glad 
For each of three. 



10 



I SMILED. 

Alone I sat and smiled 

At some odd thoughts I had; 

A friend came in and cried, "You're mad ; 

No man who's sane is thus beguiled !" 

Said I, "I knew you never could have known. 

I smiled because I was alone." 



11 



BROKEN VETERAN OF COMMERCIAL WARS. 

After the smoke and roaring and desolation of the battle of 

middle life, 
After long marches and countennarches, privation, dreary, 

godless skies, and speechless weariness, 
After changes and the death of the beloved and all who knew 

you in your youth, 
Will you, broken veteran of commercial wars, turn again to the 

green fields of your youth ? 
And though the spoils of war be yours, once more, with the 

simplicity of childhood, will you plant love in your 

heart, 
Grow gentle and walk again with God over the olden hills 

and by the still flowing waters, 
And be pleased once more to be innocent in your desires and to 

grow sweetly tender in your heart — you, you, broken 

veteran of commercial wars? 



12 



BABES. 

The dimpled cheeks of babes do more 

Than vaunted enterprises fraught with lore 

To soften this hard world of hate and harsh alarms; 

And many a man ne'er served as well as in his mother's arms. 



13 



EVENING SONG. 

Give me to gladly go 

My way, 

And say 
No word of mine own woe; 
But let me smile each day. 

Give me the strength to do 

My task 

I ask; 
And that I shall not rue 
The toiler's grimy mask. 

Give one loved hand to me, 

And leave 

The eve 
All undisturbed as we 
Our strength of souls retrieve. 

And lastly give sweet sleep, 

Closed sight, 

No fright, « 
Nor fears that wakeful keep ; 
And now a sweet good night. 

14 






DESIDERATA. 

Though work bring naught of power nor wealth, 
Spare me from want of common needs, 
And give a share of manly health, 
A few good friends of honest deeds; 
And till death's peaceful slumber nears, 
A life of undishonored years. 



15 



THE WORLD'S NEWBORN TODAY. 

The world's newborn today ; 
And who will walk today with open eyes 

Will find amid the old some faint surprise, 
A thousand years the earth has crept along — 

A thousand, thousand years, and song 
Nor numbers infinite can say 

What long eons are still upon it's way; 
And yet the world's newborn today. 

The world's newborn today; 
And who will dream today and bear men's sneers; 

And work amid his silent, bitter tears, 
And turn no eye upon the flaunting crowd, 

But keep his spirit clean, not proud; 
He shall yet live to see some ray 

Gleam o'er his troubled night of wild dismay, 
Because the world's newborn today. 

16 



The world's newborn today; 
And some will wildly pray and toil to leap 

Afar in time and place, and some will weep 
In quest of life's one aim ; but he's a seer 

Who'll calmly walk and see and hear 
Within the things that 'round him stay 

His chance for sweetest life without delay, 
And know the world's newborn today. 



17 



I PONDER O'ER LOVE. 

I ponder o'er love and o'er death, 

O'er fame and unrequited toil, 

O'er placid young men and young women 

Dreaming in the day of their dreams, 

O'er hard-headed men of trade, 

And the public cheat held in high esteem, 

O'er the patient artist buying with his youth 

That which he shall gain in age 

But cannot enjoy, the day of pleasure being past; 

O'er the young nun, barred from the world, 

Yet bound by nature to be still a woman; 

I ponder o'er the tragedy of idealists, 

Living in a world of bog; 

O'er ministers grown larger than their doctrine, 

O'er the chance-taker who has lost, 

And o'er him who has won, 

O'er proud, beautiful, idle women, 

And humble, ugly, toiling ones, 

18 



O'er the tired worker in the shop, 

And the master of the shop, 

O'er solitary women who sit in gloom, 

O'er the bride and the bridegroom 

And the secret chamber that is theirs, 

O'er the dead love of them that still live, 

O'er the mystery of the mother's love, 

And the agony of ungrateful children loved, 

O'er lonely sailors out at sea, 

Ever watching the dead, dead waters, 

O'er soul-poisoned kings of nations and gold; 

I ponder o'er myself, indifferent just, 

Breathless in the roaring sea of time. — 

Let me forgive much, forget more; 

Let me close my eyes and fall half asleep, 

That the pictures may grow softer and stiller, 

And the life, O thou God! again grow gentle. 



19 



THE GREATER HEROISM. 

Work as if thy task were made for thee; 
Be strong as if thou hadst courage, 

And charitable as if thou hadst been rewarded; 
Remain poor if riches are dishonorable, 

And carry poverty with the dignity of virtue. 
When others dine sumptuously, eat thy crust; 

Let love be thy guide and justice thy God — 
Not for thyself alone, but for all men. 

'Pursuing these things thou wilt be misjudged 
And, in the gloaming of thy days, forgotten; 

Then, uncomplaining, lie thou down at even, 
Cheered by the love in thy heart, 

And by the full-grown soul of thy charity; 
Then hast thou won the heroic battle, 

Yet not stained the sweet earth with blood; 
But in the garden of love and sacrifice, 

Hast thou planted serenely growing flowers, 
That shall still blow when thou dost slumber 

In the shadow-land of dreamless sleep. 



20 



THE PHILOSOPHER'S DELIVERANCE 

If it were man's sweet privilege, 
I should have cried. All day I've tried 
To solve the thing and meaning bring 
Into the thousand daily facts 
That constitute our varied acts. 

And now the evening's falling, 

And darkness grows; and human woes 

That seemed at noon so small, by moon 

Appear a giant's awful size 

In fearsome, weird, fantastic, wild disguise. 

My whole philosophy is 

Then subject to the light and hue 

Of things around and every sound. 

What's true today seems tomorrow false — 

Enough! Tonight I'll dress, dine out, and waltz. 



21 



YOU WHO WRANGLE WITH ME AT THE MART. 

You who see the worst of me, 
Who wrangle with me at the mart, 
Who discuss prices with me, pro and con — 
Do you condemn me? 

I do not condemn you, 
For you are a chattel like myself, 
Answering the necessities of the day — 
You who wrangle with me at the mart. 

Underneath the wrinkled face, 

You have to me a gentle face, 

And between the rough words, 

I hear your other voice — kind and low; 

This I remember, forgetting all else; 

For this shall I hear again, 

And shall know in the after-dawn 

That glows beyond this dead sea of trifles. 



22 



O PASSER-BY! 

passer-by, O passer-by! 
Have you good words of me 
Upon your lips as I draw nigh 
To you each day? 

If so, I beg 

That you'd them say, 

For soon I'm gone and cannot hear, 

So speak the kindly word 

1 beg and smile while yet I'm near. 
I'd speak to you, 

If courage came, 

And I quite knew 

You'd take the love my heart oft sends, 

And give me yours as well — 
O passer-by, come let's be friends! 

Life's smiles and tears 

And happiness 

And childish fears 

Are mine, just like your own each day, 
(You understand I know.) 

So come and let's be friends I say. 



23 



THE DISHONORED POET. 

Full oft alone at night he sang a song 
The world sang gladly after him, and long 
Remembered it; for on Parnassus Mount 
He dwelt with dreams beside the muses' fount, 
And knew the fairy paths that spirits walk. — 
Then shame, defender's and accuser's talk, 
Then silent all. His monstrous name is hid 
As if of it the world itself would rid. 
O thou whom men call God ! did thy hand shake 
As from the formless void of things to make 
This life thou gatheredst thy materials strange, 
And in this crooked shape didst them arrange ? 
Where sentest thou his double soul to dwell — 
With its sweet songs to heaven, or deeds to hell ? 



24 



TO A POET. 

Ambitious true it is in you 
To hope that it be said, 
When life is past and you at last 
Lie still and newly dead: 

"The days are run of this sweet son 

Who failed in worldly strife, 

Was poorly clad, but wandered glad 

Along the paths of life ; 

For open wide on every side 

His heart had many a door, 

And they that knocked found them unlocked, 

And saw there evermore 

As rich a world as love unfurled 

In any human breast; 

And none were lost and none were crossed 

And every one was blest." 



25 



Ambitious true it is in you 
To hope that this be said, 
When life is past and you at last 
Lie still and newly dead. 

Yet on and on, from youth's clear dawn 

Till life's still evening rays, 

The battered heart would backward start 

To march the withered ways, 

If there were not among the lot 

Of all the peaceful dead 

Some lofty souls who'd paid life's tolls 

Of whom such words are said. 



26 



WALK SWEETLY. 

Walk sweetly through this noisy place, 
O thou with pliant soul ! 
And learn to go with thankful heart 
As onward seasons roll. 

And though 'tis human fate to fail, 
Tis great to hold still fast 
To that one thing thou lovest best, 
For it alone will last. 

And though the shadows on thee fall, 
If thou art gentle still 
And calmly walk with thankful heart, 
Thou'st done the Master's will. 

And next the laugh of happy maids, 
An old man's smile is best — 
The greatest triumph in the world— 
And surely it is blest. 



27 



I KNOW. 

And will you put the verse aside 

Because you've tried 

To all the measure of your strength ? 

And ask at length, 

Why should you follow words like these — 

Whose wish to please? 

And' are you tired — your courage low ? — 

I know. 

These words are dead, they clothe you not, 

Nor fill the lot 

Of pressing needs that steal your days 

Till evening's rays. 

You will not read — nor have the time? 

You say I rhyme 

With selfishness and pride aglow? 

I know. 

28 



And true it is these words are dead; 

No cloth they spread, 

Nor shelter bring to you at night, 

Nor gold by light 

Of morning when perchance you stray 

So still away 

From strangers' doors in spirits low — 

I know. 

The strong man's hopeless work of years, 

His inward tears; 

The dying youth of her unwooed, 

Her solitude; 

The broken heart's unseen distress, 

Its sleeplessness; 

The honored now and dishonored so — 

I know. 

Where'er you are, my brother dear, 

I'd bring you cheer; 

And you of full-blown maiden's grace, 

And you of face 

All warped and drawn in time's caprice, 

I'd bring you peace. 

In secret longing all you go — 

I know. 



29 



I've dined in good men's gracious halls; 

I've heard the calls 

Of lonely fishers where I've slept 

And waters crept 

Along the barren banks of need. 

I've piped the reed, 

And broken love's sweet music low 

I know. 

To you who walk in shadows dark 

And keenly hark 

For kindly words if but to live, 

Myself I give, 

My life and all my heart and hand 

Here where I stand. 

Tis thus that both our lives will grow 

I know. 

I bring but this one common thought 

My life has wrought; 

That from the dregs of drear despair 

Still everywhere 

There is a joy I yet may sip — 

Tis comradship 

With all mankind, the high and low 

I know. 

30 



home again: 

I'm home again and the room is still, 
Save faintly hums the low-turned light, 
An insect buzzes now and then, 
And the rain is pattering in the night. 

The noise of the crowd still rings in me, 
The dust of the street is on my shoes, 
My limbs still ache from the marches long; 
But ills fly quick while silence woos. 

A thousand darting visions rise, 
As I sit in the humming light and muse 
O'er the din and dust and heartless rush, 
And myself in memories' wanderings lose. 

But the room is still; and the insect's buzz, 
And the soft, sweet hum of the low-turned light, 
And the rock of my chair, and the pattering rain, 
Will banish the noise of the world from the night. 



31 



KINDNESS. 

Who lives 

For kindness gives 

A light to darkened lands; 

And tho no image of him stands 

In public place, he is a martyr 

Amid piratic schemes of barter 

And triumphs tho he die unwept; 

His light may once have crept 

Through hearts of stone 

And shone. 



32 



O LONELY WORKERS! 

Hide it as men will, even from themselves, behind the 
efforts of every man is the vision of a woman; 

It looms across the lonely way and on the background 
of every evening's twilight, 

When the day's work is done and the worker's heart 
creeps to his lips and whispers for sweet 
companionship in the silent hours. 

O lonely workers of the world, wandering, plodding, 
and ever wandering, may the kindly 
peace of this midsummer night woo you also ! 



IN YOUTH'S WILD PRIDE 

A boy there was who prayed but to be great; 
And all impatiently he burned his light 
Into the deepest dark, till dark took flight; 
And his one joy was fame to contemplate. 
He thrilled with wildest dreams as he did wait, 
And scorned the common lives of men held tight 
Within the toils of need ; and worshipped might 
E'en though it clutched the poor with fangs of hate. 
And had — Oh had his highborn plans been wrought, 
With earth's great monarchs then he would have trod, 
The world of beauty would his smile have sought, 
And courted oft and counted sweet his nod ! 
But lo ! grim fate his climbing heel had caught, 
And set him down 'mid common men to plod. 



34 



WHERE GOD IS. 

"God's in his world and all is well," 
Said the man who had stores ot worldly things. 

"There is no God and the world is hell," 

Said the man who had need of worldly things. 

For life needs rest 

Before it is blest 

By the God that we say is good, 

And the pain of toil 

Will surely spoil 

The faith that had understood 

Our God to be naught but just. 

So let's bring rest 

To the wearied breast 

And not let goodness rust, 

For love's a thing 

That God will bring, 

And God is one who thrives the best 

Not in pain from o'er toil where poverty dwells, 

But where there's work's reward and rest — 

That's the place where our God most often dwells. 



35 



rOU WITH THE STILL SOUL. 

Maybe you have a still soul that goes murmurless 
like the water in the deep of rivers ; 

And perchance you wander silent amid 

the din of the world's grinding barter 
like one journeying in strange lands. 

You, too, with the still soul, have your mission, for 

beneath the dashing, noisy waves must ever run the 
silent waters that give the tide its course. 



36 



FORGET. 

let me keep 

My grief locked in my breast ! 

For it can make no burden light; 

And I would have my songs bring rest. 

But if sometimes my eyes be wet, 

And I have made you sad, 

1 pray forget. 



37 



IN THE HOSPITAL. 

I make what modest haste I can 

To fill my little place, 
For now it seems the night shades fall 

Around my withered face. 

The nurse has been so kind today, 
And all day long has fanned; 

The doctor has looked oft at me — 
I think I understand. 

No one has come to me today, 

No one has wandered here; 
And as the world grows hard within 

The world without grows dear. 

Again I'm free, I walk with friends 

Along the shady street: 
The rattle of the busy town 

Again is music sweet. 

And as I wander in my brain 
Beyond the sick room door, 

The nurse complains, "You must lie still, 
Vou must now write no more." 
38 



And so, good-bye to you at work 

In shade and sunshine fair, 
I'd give what worldly goods I have 

To be with you out there. 

O beautiful world of green and gold, 
Of bloom and blossom gay, 

Of laughter, health and perfect sleep, 
O take me back some day ! 

take me back ! I still am young, 
And still would know the sweet 

Of lover's whisper in the dawn, 
When lips on lips shall meet. 

1 still would hear a woman's voice 

By quiet evening light, 
And plans repeated o'er and o'er, 
And last a sweet good-night. 

Again the nurse commands me now, 

And I resign to fate, 
While evening shadows softly fall, 

And I lie still and wait. 



39 



SHIPS RETURNINQHOMR 

We are all ships returning home laden 

with life's experience, memories of work, 
good times and sorrows, each with his 
especial cargo; 

And it is our common lot to show the marks 
of the voyage, here a shattered prow, 
there a patched rigging, and every hulk 
turned black by the unceasing batter of 
the restless wave. 

May we be thankful for fair weather and 
smooth seas, and in times of storm 
have the courage and patience 
that mark every good mariner; 

And, over all, may we have the cheering hope 
of joyful meetings as our ship 
at last drops anchor in the still 
water of the eternal harbor. 



40 



TWO WOMEN. 

Two women passed : the one had children many, 

A babe within her arms then cried, 
The other woman hadn't any; 

Yet both these women looked and sighed. 



41 



WE SIT AND JUDGE. 

We sit and judge without delay 
On how each one betakes his way, 
And laugh at every narrow man 
Who can't enjoy the things we can, 
And deep in hades souls we plant 
That can enjoy the things we can't. 



42 



THE LIGHT OF A CHEERFUL HEART. 

I tell you that you and I and the commonest 
person are all journeying the same way, 
hemmed in by the same narrow path, 
leading to the eternal years. 

We pride ourselves over our particular superiority; 
but really there is little difference 
between us; 

And in this journey over the thousand hills and 
valleys called life, he is wisest who is 
patient where the way is hard, has faith when 
he does not understand, and carries into the 
dark places the light of a cheerful heart. 



43 



TO-MORROW. 

How oft you've said to-morrow 

Is time enough to speak a gentle word 

To one whose olden friendship time had blurred 

And set to naught sweet trysts of other years, 

When life and love and faith were pledged with tears 

That flowed as others' griefs you heard — 

To-morrow you intend to speak the word. 

'Mid discontent, to-morrow 

Is then the golden day when you have thought 

To build the temple which in dreams you'd wrought 

So beautiful that aged men did say 

With pride they knew you in their childhood's day. 

Though old ambitions come to naught, 

To-morrow is the golden time you've thought. 

When worn with care, to-morrow 
You'll change your course for one which steals away 
To quiet lands where cooling shadows stray 
And sunbeams tremble on the placid green, 

44 



Far off 'mid some forgotten olden scene; 
And there as once you'll rest and play. 
To-morrow you are going far away. 

'Mid childhood scenes, to-morrow 
With long embrace your heart will melt like snow, 
Close by the Mother's heart whose love you know. 
Those lips from which the rose is gone will press 
Your joyous tearful cheek with mild caress. 
Again you'll hear the cattle's low. 
To-morrow you will kiss the brow of snow. 

Art lonely ? Then to-morrow 
You'll freely yield your aching heart the time 
To weave some love romance of purest rhyme. 
With throbbing heart at fall of silent night 
You'll speed to one who waits by evening light, 
Where fancy love's sweet corals chime. 
To-morrow you will yield your heart the time. 

When age has come, to-morrow 
You'll speak with God to leave some kindly deeds 
Writ by your name that softened selfish creeds 
Of man's slow moving love of brotherhood, 

45 



That brought new hope to them who near you stood 
In life's dark streets or sunlit meads. 
To-morrow you'll ask God for better deeds. 

To-morrow, O to-morrow ! 
Fast fall, the fading years. A thought, a dream 
Of gentle words; of faith and love a theme; 
A smile, a step or two, and then 'tis done. 
Quick is the veering stream of life full run; 
Yet in the crimson west still gleam 
To-morrow and to-morrow's endless dream. 



46 



OFT IN CROWDED MART. 

To many strains I've touched my lute, 
But not as worthy as I should, 
For life and time still oft refute 
The things for which I once have stood. 

Though changed as seem my songs from youth, 
A voice within my heart still sings, 
"Live thou in tenderness and truth 
And love mankind instead of things." 

And often in the crowded mart, 
'Mid rangling, selfish slaves of men, 
This little humming song will start, 
And bring me to myself again. 



47 



DO YOU REMEMBER ONCE UPON A NIGHT— 

To J. A. W. 

Do you remember once upon a night — 
'Twas in the time of coming winter's frost; 
And wildly fierce and cold the sharp winds tossed, 
And whistled madly in the moon's chill light — 
Do you remember when you caught a sight 
Of me and I had wandered far and lost 
My way, all faint of heart, and was much crossed 
In life's dear plans that I had sought with might? 
You said kind words and took my weakened hand, 
And all your gentleness was life to me 
Who had been lost in night's all stormy sea. 
And then again I hoped and worked and planned 
By your dear help my tangled feet to free. 
I've not forgot your love— you understand? 



48 



WHO LOVES MANKIND. 

Who truly loves mankind, 
Though struggling he shall find 
His humble, daily bread, 
His soul is like the sun 
'Mid myriads who have none 
And, walking, still are dead. 



49 



I KNEW A DAUGHTER. 

I knew a daughter, 

A little babe, 

The last of many others, 

Of sisters and of brothers, 

A queen of bliss 

And many a kiss, 

This dainty little miss. 

I knew a daughter, 

A glowing girl, 

Who rose upon the drudging 

The rest did unbegrudging 

And toiled away 

That they might say 

She's "noble born" some day. 

I knew a daughter, 

A woman fair, 

Who lived for naught but pleasure 

And idled without measure, 

Who quite forgot 

The toiling lot 

Of them that rested not. 



50 



TO THEM THAT CARRY THE LIGHT. 

You swerve 

Not from truth's way, 

But hold with iron nerve, 

And God I say 

You serve. 

Forsooth 

All things built on 

A lie will be uncouth 

And cry ere gone 

For truth. 

Today 

The world is quick; 

You call, with brief delay 

'Twill pierce the thick 

You say. 

Though night 

And age come on, 

Ere men perceive the light, 

And you are gone 

From sight, 

51 



Still you— 
If you hold fast 
Through persecution's rue- 
Shall have at last 
Your due. 

Meanwhile 

The work you find, 

Let it the years beguile, 

Grows sweetly kind 

And smile. 

Nor cease 

At all in this; 

For you it is the least 

That truth is bliss 

And peace. 



52 



GIVE ME TODAY. 

Poets I've read until I'm weary — 
Weary of meter, rhyme and lay — 
Weary of far-off airy dreams, 
Give me some life today. 

I've read of languid eyes and tresses 
That shone in the warming sun of May 
Beside a lover well content. 
Give me some love today. 

I've followed lines that told of pageants, 
Of lordly castles far away, 
Of women fair in gorgeous dress. 
Give me some wealth today. 

I've seen in rhyme the feet of leisure 
Of men and maids who never stray 
From placid halls to wrangling mart. 
Give me some rest today. 

Just for a day I am beseeching 
A day of love's sweet tender touch, 
Some worldly goods, and what e'er comes ! 
Pray, do I ask too much ? 



53 



AT THE OPERA. 

" Tis grand," I cried, as the song went on 

With music sweetly wild. 

My friend replied, "You ne'er have heard 

The prattle of your child." 



54 



I LOOK OVER THIS WILDERNESS. 

I look over this wilderness of monstrous 
buildings and this race of hurrying, 
careworn, nervous men, whose feet 
never touched the cool, budding earth, 
and whose souls lie dormant or dead 
in their fevered bodies; and I ask, 
"O God! is this civilization?" 

Better the plain-clad follower of the plow, 
who is no man's chattel, and toils 
in God's pure air, the witness of 
incessant birth of bud and bloom, 
and of the sky by day and by night- 
lacking ornament— but calm and free. 



55 



THE HATE AND THE LOVE OF THE WORLD. 

I have seen men binding their brothers in chains, 
and crafty traders reaching for the bread 
that women and babes lifted to their mouths; 

I have seen merciless greed extracting yet the last 
pittance frpm the defenseless and weak; 

I have seen suffering go unaided, and known the 
stinging malice of them I loved ; 

I have heard the iron din of war, and have seen 
the waxen face of early death; 

And I have cried in my heart, THE WORLD IS HATE! 

I have heard birds calling their mates in the 

still forests, and insects chirping to 

their loves in the tangled grass of meadows; 
I have seen mothers caressing their babes, and 

aged men supporting with devotion the 

slow steps of stooping women; 
I have seen cheerful hearthstones surrounded by 

laughing children and strong men and sweet women; 
I have heard the tender words of lovers in the pure 

passion of youth; 
And I have cried in my heart, THE WORLD IS LOVE! 



56 



I SIT AFRAID. 

world, how I have loved you ! 

And you have stripped me and scourged me; 

Yet have I loved you, 

And my heart has been full of you. 

1 hear you say, "Who are you 

That we should care for your love?" 

I answer, "I am nothing, 

But I loved you." 

And I answer again, "I am nothing, 

But I have reached my hand to the lowest, 

And I have sat with want 

That the weak might be nourished, 

And the lonely filled with love." 

Each one of you would I have folded in my arms, 

Not in the public place in view of eyes, 

But on the unseen path of every day, 

For my heart was full of you, 

My lips blooming with wild, sweet songs at morn, 

And softer strains in evening's twilight hour. 

But you stripped me and scourged me. 

Now silent I sit afraid. 



57 



THE OLD MAGNOLIA TREE 
A Tale of South Carolina. 

"You want to see some one?" the lady said, 
As an old, bent darkey lifted up his head 
From out his hands; and rising from the door, 
Came slowly toward her, for she said no more, 
And stopped inside the gate to know his will. 
The spacious lawn and house within were still; 
For empty was the place, some weeks had passed, 
Or maybe months and weeks, since tenants last 
Had trod the rooms that now lay grim and bare. 
Upon the lawn were trees, palmetto, pear, 
And evergreen, and near the fence there stood 
An old magnolia tree of scented wood; 
Long years the burning Carolina sun 
Had met its leaves where boys now men had run. 
Deep cracked and old, four mighty pillars sent 
Their tops to meet an arched roof that bent 
And leaned. And yet some recent art not mean 
With color made the house look bright and clean. 

58 



"You want to see some one?" the lady said, 

The silvery-haired, old negro bowed his head, 

And coming near with salutations dumb, 

He finally replied, "Ah does, yes urn." 

And bowing on with many side steps slow 

And questioning smiles and trembling voice still low: 

"Is you de one dat's gwine to move into 

Dis house da's made so fine, please, Miss, is you ? 

Ah's lived heah long 'fo' you was born, ah guess — 

Please, Miss, de dog a-tryin' tear your dress. 

Ah's only lived one place 'cept jes' right heah; 

Mas' Hambleton fetched me from way down fah 

Sabannah rivah — Hambleton — yes um. 

Ah watch de chores an' does whatevah come." 

The lady was the minister's good wife, 

But lately come to guard the spiritual life 

That parish held far down the Congaree, 

In sunny Carolina, 'mid a sea 

Of white-capped cotton fields now fresh o'errun, 

Immaculate beneath the Southern sun. 

He might stay, the lady said, and do the chores, 

And mow the lawn, and mind the outer doors, 

And water flowers, and trim the trees, with all 

There'd be enough until each evening's fall. 

59 



And so he stayed, this darky old, and said 

But little as the burning days turned red 

In even's hour, and did his work all well 

And kindly, with a mind that did not dwell 

In hesitation on the longest task; 

Nor for a single half-day's rest did ask, 

As months went on in that hot Southern clime, 

Until again 'twas cotton picking time. 

And now the minister's good wife called him 

As oft, while day at east was growing dim, 

And said, "To-morrow rake the leaves to burn, 

For now it is the cooler season's turn ; 

And I think, too, the old magnolia tree 

You might cut down, and then you come to me; 

And there next spring we'll make a flower bed." 

He smiled and bowed, "Yes um, yes urn," he said. 

He raked the lawn and raked and raked yet more, 

Until it looked like one vast velvet floor; 

But swung no ax into that dying tree, 

And sat beneath its limbs content and free 

Till evening late, still humming some old song, 

And thus a week and days soon slipped along. 

The minister's good wife called him once more, 

And standing in the mighty pillared door, 

She said, "You haven't cut that tree down yet — 

The old magnolia near the fence; don't let 

60 



Me see it there this time to-morrow eve;" 

And with these earnest words she turned to leave. 

"Please, Miss, de ole tree make a lot o' shade 

When de sun all day a-shinin' hot an' rad." 

"Oh — no, I think not much; fell it to-morrow." 

"Yes urn," he said, as if his heart knew sorrow. 

To-morrows and to-morrows quickly came, 

The old magnolia tree still stood the same. 

Once it was an ax he lacked, and then 

His back was feeble, and he asked again 

A few days yet to do the task, and said, 

As before, "Yes urn," and humbly bowed his head. 

And so the torrid Southern summer passed, 

And solemn, cooler evenings came at last ; 

And now the good wife's o'ertaxed patience failed, 

And once again the old negro she hailed, 

And once again demanded — would he fell 

The tree, or would he then and there dare tell 

That this command he had no mind to heed, 

"it's but an old o'ergrown and dying weed, 

I'll have it cut; if you have not the will 

Or strength for it, there are some others still. 

I'll have it down — to-morrow — by this hour!" 
With these sharp words his form began to cower, 

61 



And o'er his face now old with years of life 

There spread the signs of grieving, inward strife. 

"Well, well, and what reply have you?" she said; 

The old black man raised up his silvery head, 

And turned his kindly eyes upon her face, 

Where shone the power of that other race. 

"Don' talk like dat," and then he paused until 

His timid heart was mastered by his will. 

"Dem buds now turnin' white an' bloomin', Miss; 

An' when de wind it touch 'em wid de kiss, 

Day smell so sweet. Ah's seed 'em bloom up dah 

Along 'fo' you was born or come down heah." 

She tossed her head and with a woman's frown, 

"To-morrow morn,I say, it shall be down!" 

"No, Miss, ma good ole Misses she done plan' 

Dat tree when de war was los', an' ah — ah can' 

Cut it down. Young Mas' he nevah love young Misses 

At furse, she jes' a-grievin' for his kisses. 

Bote pa'nts say day should marry an' day did, 

Sometimes young Mas' to Cha'leston goes an' hid 

Fu' days an' half de niggers starts to hunt, 

An' den he talks to Miss so cross an' blunt 

When he comes back, poor Miss she cry and cry, 

An' den git sick till young Mas' 'fraid she die." 

62 



Impatient with his tale of times far gone, 

The woman raised her hand, yet he went on. 

"But when de baby Mary come, young Mas' 

He change an' love young Miss and hole her fas' 

In bofe his arms an' kiss her evah day, 

An' kiss de lid'le baby too, an' say 

He nevah, nevah know what babies for — 

Dat — dat was 'fo' de war — 'fo' de war. 

An' ole Mas', too, an' good ole Misses bofe, 

Day laugh an' cry wid joy fu' days, and loaf 

'Round young Mas' house an' quarrel wid Ann, de nurse, 

'Cause each one wan' to hole de baby furse; 

An' jump around wid it an' laugh and dance — 

Ole Mas' an' Misses dem — dem young Mas' pa'nts. 

Den d'rectly say de war a-gwine come on, 

Ole Mas' an' young Mas' bofe to Cha'leston gone, 

A-sayin', 'You take kyar ma babe and Miss,' 

An' ride away, an' from dat day to dis 

Ah ain't seed him no mo', but ole Mas' he 

Come back, a bullet hole shot fru his knee; 

An mos' de heartless niggers run away 

An' leave Miss an' de baby, but ah stay. 

De lid'le baby Mary, she grow fas', 

An' 'fo' we know free summers day done pass, 

63 



An' den one night de wind blow fierce and loud. 
Day say de blue-coats heah, a mighty crowd, 
Gen' Sherman's ahmy come from up de sea; 
De cannons roar, de houses burn, and we — 
We scared to deaf — de niggers, whites, an'all; 
In fron' de house we hear de devils call, 
A-sayin', 'Burn it down and dem inside!' 
De barns a-smokin' whah de niggers hide, 
De sky all rad wid flames like blood — de shrieks 
De women folks a-makin' as de seeks 
To hide — de white an' black, no dif'ence now! 
De babe she lay on Miss's breast, her brow 
A-burnin' wid de fevah. Now day come, 
Like mad men drunk fu' human blood, an' some 
A-wavin' torches run inside de gate, 
Ah jumps clean f ru de window, an' says, Wait ! 
Dah's a babe inside dat's sick an' nigh to deaf!' 
Seem like dat crowd of blue-coats hole dah breaf, 
Some come a-runnin' 'round whah ah was sayin' 
It ovah — ovah 'g'in while dey was stayin'. 
One shouts, 'We gwine set all you niggers free !' 
Ah shouts, 'Ah is, you need'n stay fu' me!' 
Den on ma head a knock — ag'in — once more, 
Ah reels, a-stagg'rin, re'ch out fu' de do', 

64 



An' drap right down and hears ma massa say, 

Take kyar ma babe an' Miss,' an' ride away. 

One beside de captain shouts, 'De house! de house!' 

'Stan' back !' he say, an' day was still as a mouse. 

An' as ah turn, dah in de torches' light, 

Stan' Miss an' de babe, like angels dressed in white; > 

An' de sound of marchin' seem to die away, 

An' da'kness come a-fallin' whah ah lay, 

An' seem like summah time a-long ago. 

An' winds a-blowin' fru de trees so low, 

Like fa' off music from de crooked lane 

Whah cabins stand along de fields of cane, 

And whah de niggers dance an' sing an' sing 

Till stars a-wavin' an' de valleys ring. 

Ah soon wakes up, but de babe she gone to rest 

Dat winter night, asleep on Miss's breast. 

We bury her one morn, young Miss an' me, 

Dah by de fence whah she could always see 

De place her baby Mary sleep so still. 

An' when de springtime come ah makes a hill 

Besides de grabe; an' Miss, so po' an' white, 

She drap a seed, den fol' her hands up tight, 

An' raise her eyes to de evenin' sky an' pray, 

To herself-like, den aloud an' slow she say, 



65 



'Lawd, bring fort' de tender leaf from out de ground, 

An' let de years spread branches fa' around, 

An' let de tree live on in place de dead.' 

She drap her hands, an' dat was all she said. 

De years day come, an' creepin' past day go, 

An' from de seed dat same magnolia grow. 

Young Miss she soon turn ole an' put away; 

Ah only an' dat tree is heah to stay. 

Sometimes it seem to talk; an' evah breeze 

At night finds dis ole body on its knees, 

An' dah de sound of whisp'rin' leaves above 

Seem like de voices ole of dem ah love; 

An' evah mornin' 'fo' you's up ah hears 

De warbler sing so sweet it fetch de tears ; 

An' in de risin' sunlight of ah see 

Young Miss an' de babe sit dah beneaf dat tree, 

An' thinks ah hear young Mas' a-callin' say, 

Take kyar ma babe and Miss!' and ride away." 



66 



AS I RETURNED TO THE DIM OF MY STUDY. 

You pallid-faced person with the book under your arm, you 
with the eyes that look far away, and you with the eyes 
that look in, sitting nightly by your lamp — 

You who daily browse in libraries and dusty bookshops — is it 
an explanation of the cosmic wheels you seek ? I, too, 
with rapture have searched in libraries, touching this 
volume, scanning that, and pondering long o'er yet an- 
other. 

Oh with what a throbbing heart have I implored the pages to 
yield their wisdom to me! No speech can explain the 
unworldly joy that was in me, while I pursued the 
thoughts of one the world had dubbed an immortal seer. 

And at last, having mastered the thought, I cried to the great 
God in thanks for my joy. Had He not made me a 
confidant of His wisdom ? Was I not also now a keeper 
of immortal truth? 

How I have walked in the sunlight with an air of superior 
knowledge, questioning the advantage of farther study! 

Poor fool ! 

The awakening — the terrible awakening to find that I had been 
dreaming day and night for months, to find that my 

67 



immortal seer was not the only immortal seer, that he 

was no seer at all, to find that another held the secrets of 

God whispered from on high ! 
The second cry of ecstasy was less joyous, the third still less, 

the fourth still less, until at last there was no more 

ecstasy, distrust pricking me like a thorn. 
But now I know the greater wisdom ; for pursuing one night the 

last pages of the last metaphysician who would teach 

me what he knew not himself, I heard a child crying 

in the dark, 
And I sought out the child in the dark, and carried it on my 

shoulder to the love it had wandered from. 
And on my return, I passed a house where there was laughter, 

and music, and dancing; 
And farther on, under the light of a lamp, one called me by 

name, and took my hand, and pressed it in his own, 

and spoke kindly; 
And as I returned to my metaphysician, in the dim of my 

study, I smiled ; for I saw that the thing I sought was in 

me, and in the child, and in the dancers, and in him 

who took me by the hand. 



68 



On the Shores of the Sky 



WHO ENTERETH HERE. 

(For the Door of Your Dream House.) 

Whoe'er thou art that entereth here, 

Forget the struggling world 
And every trembling fear. 

Take from thy heart each evil thought, 

And all that selfishness 
Within thy life has wrought. 

For once inside this place thou'lt find 

No barter, servant's fear, 
Nor master's voice unkind. 

Here all are kin of God above — 

Thou, too, dear heart; and here 
The rule of life is love. 



71 



THE MOUNTAIN TOP. 

Once I lived on a high mountain, 
dead to the distant world of men, 
dead to possession of any thing, 
dead to myself of flesh. 

The quiet sun attending me by day, 

made of earth a dome of beaten gold, 
I wandering always on the top, 
and looking downward on the world. 

By night the moon walked with me, 
my brother of the sky, 
saying things in a voiceless voice, 
which I understood. 

The stars knew me in the night and smiled, 
children of the house of God 
playing on the mead of heaven, 
calling often to each other. 

Not once saw I God face to face, 

yet heard Him when I stopped my ears, 
whispering as does the sea 
on the bosom of the night. 

72 



I feared to close my eyes, 
banishing the world, 
and call Him to show His face, 
lest I should die. 

Yet always by day and night 
I saw His children of the mead 
looking down on me, 
I looking downward on the world. 

Speaking with no one, 

human speech I nigh forgot — 
the sighing seas of God 
breathing in my breast. 

All the music of forgotten worlds 
echoed in my brain; 
and the unborn children sang, 
and the dead children sang. 

But naught could I see 

save the dome of beaten gold, 
and the playing babes of the sky, 
and the sun and the moon. 

And none would come to touch me, 

and take me by the human hand, 

and press me tight in arms 

that held the warmth of earth as I. 



73 



I saw naught but eternal things, 

heard naught but eternal speech; 
I alone was ephemeral 
amid these timeless beings. 

The purity of the mountain top 

froze the crimson rivers of my flesh; 
and since I was to die, 
I longed for mortal kin. 

The kindly human voice, 

with the sin of the crowded world, 
and duty, and toil, and laughter — 
all called for me to come ; 

And rushing down from the mountain top, 
I sought again the world of women and men, 
the warm water of human things 
touching me on every side. 

In lane and mart I walked with men; 
drank from the cup of love 
till I was subdued with joy, 
yielding childlike to the manner of the world. 

Now the mountain top is far away; 
but the love of dying things is mine, 
for out of death our love is made ; 
and I am with my kin. 

74 



GOODNESS. 

He sent his soul to live in deepest solitude, 

That goodness he might learn and heaven win, 

When lo ! a soundless voice rang through his sleeping soul, 

'There is no goodness where there is no sin, 

And cowards they who shun in fear 

The battle here." 



75 



PROGRESSIVE CONFESSIONAL. 

ASCETICISM. 

I have known earthly joys, and yet 
In by-ways oft at night I've met, 
As years have moved so swiftly on, 
Some secret pain from out the past 
That had its birth in pleasures gone 
And made me beg God's grace at last. 

SCEPTICISM. 

And yet so many deeds called wrong 
Have brought me joys in goodly throng; 
And many deeds that men call good 
Have plunged me in the deepest dark; 
I doubt that e'er I understood 
On which God puts his righteous mark. 

POSITIVISM. 

Now this one thing is clear to me; 
That laws, howe'er proclaimed to be 
From God, if they 'gainst nature go, 
Are human made, and do confess 
Man's ignorance. For this I know, 
Our God has meant us happiness. 

76 



THE WALL. 

LOVE. 

We're up against the wall and can't climb o'er, 
And can't break through; 
So let us play and laugh and try no more, 
Come, just we two. 

LIFE. 

We're up against the wall and can't climb o'er, 
And can't break through; 
So let us try on this same side the door 
What we can do. 

DEATH. 

We're up against the wall and can't climb o'er, 
And can't break through; 
But now 'tis on the other side the door 
Just facing you. 



77 



LETTER TO A SOLITARY. 

How often have I unpacked my heart under 

the stars, careless of the swift night hours, 
and scornful of the days and years as they 
passed the horizon of the present! 

Why did I not disembosom myself to one 

who could understand, instead of carrying 

the conventional face in the sunlight of many days ? 
I lacked courage, faith; and so was kept 

from my own by cloistering the inner songs 

save from the dead ears of the silent night. 

The fingers of the gods I found cold, lacking the warmth 
of human hands, and the voice of the stars 
in the night — though unforgettable — 
was still incomplete without the music 
of human whispers. 

In meditation I trod the snow-stained mountains, 
where the air is chill, unwarmed by human 
breath; and though my vision widened, the 
sweet noises of the peopled valley died 
away, and the songs of love withered on 
my lips. 

78 



I do not counsel you, O solitary! to shun 

eternally the mountain, and the purer air, 
and the broader vision, and the prayers 
by the star-tapers of the night, and the foot- 
steps of God echoing on the mosaic of 
the inner cathedral. 

I do not counsel you to blind the spirit-eyes, 
impatient to look from the spires of 
immortality, or to be ignorant of the 
inarticulate language of the golden 
worlds that nightly sweep the brooding dome, 
or never to bathe yourself in the strange 
solitude of the moon. 

I do not counsel you to quench the beacon 
on the hilltop of your timeless self, 
or to stop your ears to strains of 
immortal music. These — all these the 
sweet people of the valley need, still 
prostrate in the church of things. 

Therefore, O solitary! bring now and then from 

the mountain your vision, your music, and your light. 
Set your lamp in the darkened places, and 
sing in the crowded world the whispered 
melodies of your better self; re-echo with 

79 



your own feet the steps of God heard in the 
inner cathedral, breathe the breath of 
purer air, and paint on the curtain of 
daily life your visions of the timeless hour. 

Though some understand you not, others will 
kiss your lips to smiles, and sit with you 
in the luminous hour, and you shall feel the 
warmth of strong hands, and the light that 
is within you shall be as a wedding house. 

And you, O solitary, shall touch your kin 

with the naked hand, and blend with 
the music of the world your spirit 
songs, and walk attended in the quiet 
evening over the paths warmed by human 
steps, knowing the pressure of a 
woman's hand at dawn — you! Godlike 
yet human still. 



80 



I SIT AND WAIT. 

I sit and wait upon my soul tonight, 

And watch the changing sky, 

The clouds and stars that fly 

Within the silent moon's far-reaching light 

That glorifies the night. 

Now would some keen, hard-headed son of trade 
Laugh loud at me, and say, 
"Your soul is gone? which way? 
And tell me of what stuff a soul is made. 
The thing's no good in trade." 

And proud philosophers would hard contend 

To tell me all they knew 

Of souls in me and you; 

Forgetting where the lights of heaven blend 

And shine, while they contend. 

So each one to his wish, and as for me, 

I sit tonight and wait 

In slumb'rous moonlight late, 

81 



To feel the freedom of the world in me 
Like waves of a shoreless sea. 

Wee foot of earth, I journey with the dead 

That smile in bliss afar 

On yonder liquid star, 

And on and on to ruby worlds of red 

From earthly vision fled; 

Where lonely faces I have known on earth 

Now smile in endless bliss, 

And fling to me the kiss 

Of love, 'mid twilight music soft with mirth 

Remembered long ere birth. 

And evening gardens built of pleasant thought, 

Where tripping laughters greet 

The timid bridal feet 

Of them new- wed to bliss; and sleep is naught 

But love subdued and caught. 

Oh, wake me not ! but let me still beguile 
Myself in this sweet sleep, 
As through the world I creep 
On nameless wings, and rest myself, and smile- 
Let me be dead awhile. 

82 



THOU MOTHER. 

Again thou whispereth through the years to me, 

I feel the pressure of thy lips at eve; 

Again thy kindly moistened eyes I see, 

And hear sweet counsel that I should not grieve, 

Thy gentle arms around me tight as we, 

Rock slow, and I thy sweet caress receive; 

Yet oft I see thy face with sorrow wrung, 

Until sometime in fright I scarce believe 

That I still dream. The tales when thou wast young, 

Thine own sweet hopes, thy lips, and laughter free, 

In some weird way are strangely haunting me. 

Thou mother of my childhood's pleasant days, 
Still whispering hope and courage through the years, 
In stilly cooling eve and daylight's rays, 
Art thou naught but a vision bringing cheers? 
Or dost thou walk with me along the ways, 
And know my inmost joys and my dread fears 
That pass when thou art near and far-off seem ? 

O wake me up, thou God, if I but dream ! 

83 



AFIELD. 

Drunk with dreams and songs and love 
I wander afield. 

Meditations, softened by the peaceful lands 
of growing grain and the illimitable 
sea of blue o'erhead in which float 
the placid ships of summer, draw 
my heart to my lips as one whose 
talent is in song. 

I yield to the thousand felicities of this 
transport, as a child led by his 
father's hand, and I question not. 



84 



O DREAM OF LOVE! 

Lost in olden dreams and gleeful songs, 

I tread again the garden paths of youth. 

The joys of myriad hopes in twilight's hour, 

And visions in the shadowed starry night, 

Lift up my heart unto my parted lips, 

Like one whose talent is in song. And as 

The kindly earth yields forth each spring 

Her budding brood, so in my barren heart 

There blooms again the rose of sweet content. 

O'er worldly din and godless strife of men 

Arise the symphonies of endless peace; 

Resurrected is the human heart 

From out the grave of withered selfishness, 

And touched to song the moistened lips of love. 

They awake that slumbered in their gold, 

With tender arms enfolding them that want. 

Tired men that tread the crowded streets 

Find a place of sweet repose at night, 

And fill with love the hearts of lonely women. 

From myriad mother arms come forth sweet babes, 

85 



Like budding roses dewy fresh at dawn, 
To light with joy the byways of the earth. — 
O dream of love ! endure through speeding years 
That I shall pass in worldly din and dust, 
A shining light to cheer my wand'ring steps, 
As long ago in sunlit paths of youth. 



86 



MY NATIVE CITY. 



I. 



A long walk. Tired and contented. I have been dreaming 

again. 
My walk led me upon a hill to the southeast. 
When at the top, I turned to see some cattle grazing on the 

wayside — and behold! my native city lay at my feet. 
How silent, how small, how secluded! Like a new toy in the 

grass, or a nest tucked away among the trees of the 

surrounding valley; or — save for the lines of smoke 

moving slowly to the north — like a picture hanging 

in a gallery. 
No one was near me, and only a few farmhouses in the distance. 
And I thought and dreamed of the wanderings of men amid the 

toy-town in the grass, 
Of the desires and hopes that had come and passed in this 

nest among the trees. 
I thought of my own wanderings, and remembered some 

sleepless hours divine with the music of the night. 
A thousand memories filled me with the joys of other years — 

memories of friends changed and gone, and of the 

87 



dawning sun lighting up the nimble fancy worlds of 

youth. 
I thought I could see the place where two lovers met in the 

dim past, and out of the kiss of their lips I crawled 

into the morning of the world — and these poems 

after me. 
Though I did not hear their words, unforgotten is their lover's 

parley; for ere they knew me, it was I who moved 

their lips to speech in the still night. 
How much history has passed within this small space of earth ! 

of no importance to the world; yet all important the 

life of each to himself. 
How many have lived and toiled and planned here — how 

many, tired and care-worn, have lain down here to 

repose at night! 
How many places where elegance and beauty once reigned 

have fallen to base uses ! and how many, merry with 

midnight music and the dance, have been lifted into 
immortal joy, as if death were not ! 

II. 

O my native city ! thou knowest not how often I have thought 

of thee when far away. 
When I have wandered amid other scenes, and other men and 

88 



women and children have passed by me, fondly have 

I thought of thee. 
The cool shade of thy many trees, and the memory of the 

gentle river at thy margin, have been a solace to me 

in strange and distant places. 
But thou wilt go on unconcerned as ever when I am gone into 

the silent land. 
Soon wilt thou forget that such a worm as I crawled about thy 

streets in the shadow of thy buildings. 
Within thy bosom I lay as a child, have grown to manhood, 

and shall at last rest in dreamless sleep. 
But thou, too, must pass away; and where now is trade and 

manufacture God in his time will plant another 

forest; 
And it will grow, and no man will know that thou dwelt there. 
On new-born branches birds will whisper songs of love, and 

flowered children of the wilderness will drink the 

sun wine, and gloaming eve shall know the wild 

dove's voice, and this race of hurrying, contentious 

men shall lie — O so still under the grass ! 
So, too, all things shall pass away — I, thou, country, earth, 

solar systems. 
What remains? — God! 



89 



SCORN NOT THE INNER SONG. 

What dreams of golden lights are these 

That steal upon the placid leas 

And through your heart 

Where passions dart 

At day? 

What mystic murmurs these you hear 

That come and ever more come near 

In softest gloom 

Of twilight's bloom 

At eve? 

Are these a premonition rare 
Of what the other life so fair 
Shall be at last 
When this is past 
And gone? 

Scorn not, therefore, the inner song 

The soul sings for itself along 

The hastening years 

Of many tears 

At eve. 

90 



Nor scorn the limpid whispers high 
That steal across the evening sky 
And part your soul 
From all the dole 
Of day. 



91 



AN ARTIST'S PRAYER. 

Lord God, thou who dost paint with magic touch 

The curtains of the soft and silent night, 

This gift I ask, that o'er whatever cloth 

My brush may glide, now to and fro and 'round, 

There will come that which ever pleases thee. 

Help me to make the things that beauty hold 

Amid these veering lines and diverse shades, 

That cheer will bring to sad and solemn men 

And tired women in their dreary haunts, 

That youth will not forget on highways hard 

With troubled years, when somber night is on, 

And when no kindly light leads through the way, 

That joy and love may dawn like newborn days 

In hearts where long the chambers have been dark. 

Let lowly life and dusty daily toil 

Come near me evermore and day by day, 

That I forget not them that still are kind 

Though tried by years of unrequited toil, 

Alas ! and sometimes want and age and pain. 

Let me not love my pictures more than men, 

92 



Nor follow the wild lead of some mad dream, 
Nor see myself as if above the crowd 
Commanding that they all shall bow their heads; 
Instead, with kindly heart and gentle hand 
And smiles upon my face, let me serve them 
Whose muscles ache at evening's twilight fall 
While mine in comfort still are fresh and strong. 
May all these be not empty, idle words, 
But all the burden of my life's sweet task. 
And when thou seest that my work is done, 
Let me feel thy soft evening shadows fall 
As when I climbed into my nursery bed 
With childish faith in time's old long ago; 
And let the kiss of peace lie on my lips. 



93 



AT NIGHTFALL. 

Though I know I shall sometime no more 

open my eyes to the night or the day, 
I am one who looks at the stars when 

unchained from the work-bench at 

nightfall. 
They are a sign that I am not ephemeral, 

nor you, nor you, whoever you are. 
The dawn comes and the dark and the sign 

sparkling in the brooding night, 

forever and forever. 



94 



BY THE WABASH'S LISPING FLOW. 

By the Wabash's lisping flow 
When the day was sinking low, 
Oft I've sat in silence long 
Listening to the river's song, 
Gurgling, gushing all night through 
Till the time of morning's dew, 
Till the golden shafts of sun 
Glistened where the waters run, 
Dashing, splashing ever on 
Making music to the dawn; 
Singing with a voice that said, 
"This wild life for years I've led. 
Come with me along the lands 
To the ocean's widened sands; 
There to revel in the deep 
In a blissful boisterous sleep." 
Mutt'ring, mutt'ring ever so 
Till my heart was filled with woe. 
"Come and in a tempest's roar 
We will wash old England's shore, 
O'er the Thames we'll gently glide, 
By old London town we'll stride, 



95 



Through the Norman's magic land, 
Taking rivers by the hand, 
Then we'll ride before the lee 
Into Greek's Ionian sea, 
'Long the lands of China old 
To the creeping northern cold. 
O'er the earth we'll wander free 
Into rivers, lakes, and sea, 
Singing, laughing, night and day, 
Nowhere, nowhere shall we stay; 
And in long, long years maybe 
We shall come again to see 
These old shores so still and dead." 
This the singing waters said 
In a mutt'ring, mutt'ring song 
Through the silent hours long, 
As I sat with heart beguiled 
Like some wistful little child, 
Dreaming, beaming all aglow 
By the Wabash's lisping flow. 



96 



THE HALF-DREAM. 

At the breaking of twilight on a spring morning, 
half waking and half asleep, in that 
mysterious humor between death and 
life, when the faculties lack will and 
the imagination is free, I fancied I 
lay by an open window on the slope 
of a mountain; 

Through the dim gray light the shafts of the 
sun rose from a hill before me; and 
I thought a sea lay beyond that, and 
I could hear the murmuring waters; 

Besides this there was no sound save an angelus 
tolling as if far away; 

The herds on the mountain lay still, and the 
last stars trembled faintly in the 
lighting sky. 

Presently to the voice of the sea was added the 
sound of early matins issuing from 
children's lips in cloistered walls, 
and then one clear voice — a woman's; 



97 



Then silence and the murmuring, murmuring 
waters of the sea. 

When I came to myself I could not account for 
this vision, unless it was something 
I had seen or dreamed long ago of 
happiness and peace on earth — 

Something that had been forgotten, and now, by 
the machinery of my own mind, arose 
from out the oblivious and dust- 
beladen past. 



98 



I GIVE MYSELF FOR LOVE. 

O you who love me, do you wish to bind 
But me, that losing love 
Yet no escape I find? 

My heart I cannot barter for all days, 
Though swearing with my tongue 
A thousand, thousand ways. 

The house of love is spirit, and no key 
Will firmly close its doors 
Forever and for thee. 

Yet if you love but me, the one true way, 
Without agreements long, 
I'll go with you today. 

But if by spring or noon or summer you 
Look sad upon my face, 
We'll smile and say adieu. 

Glad, glad that we have tasted to the core 
The sweet of all the world, 
Though we shall taste no more. 
LOFC. 99 



For this I give my all— below, above, 
On earth, and after it— 
I give myself for love. 



100 



REVELATION. 

* 
I. 

Once, after long weeks in the dust and heat of the city — 

in the noisy strife of the crowded world — 

covered daily with the grime of toil — 
Once, I say, I stood in the still night upon the shore 

of a lake ; and for a long time I watched the lurid west. 
And with my own eyes I saw God painting upon the sky-curtain 

of the softening dark ; 
And, after a while, the moon and her brood of stars wandered 

through the night; 
And I said to myself I need no bibles of old revelation; 

this is revelation; out of this beauty is my faith born. 

II. 

Now that night is passed, and I again hear the noise 
and feel the grime of the crowded world; 

But now I am more patient and longer suffering, for I know that 
nightly God is painting His revelation on the sky- 
curtain over the lake where I stood. 

And over every lake, and over the crest of every hill, and over 
the green level of every open field, and if we could 
but see, over the sky-obscuring houses of every city- 
is God painting His revelation. 

101 



AN EASTER PRAYER. 

Resurrect Thou the dreams and songs and love that enchanted 
the garden of my youth, filled with the joys of a 
thousand hopes in the still morning's twilight, 
and dawning visions in the shadowed, starry night. 
As the kindly earth yields forth each spring her 
budding brood, so in the barren winter of my heart 
may there bloom again the rose of sweet content. 

O'er the din of the world and the strife of men, let rise the 
symphonies of eternal peace. Resurrect them that 
slumber in graves of gold; and deliver humanity 
from those cruel conventions that are but the husks 
of virtue. Make kindness king, and teach us that 
good deeds are greater than philosophy. To tired men 
that daily tread the crowded streets, give Thou a 
place of sweet repose at night ; and fill with love 
the hearts of lonely women. Bring forth sweet babes 
from out the arms of each, to light with joy the 
byways of the earth. 

Thou .Great God, uphold me also in the lonely hour; and 
though I fall in the din and the dust of the world, 
resurrect Thou me. Even to the last, turn my 



102 



hands to kindly service, and part my lips in gleeful 
songs of love. And in the softly falling dark, when all 
grows strangely still, may I be glad to have trod the 
sweet green earth, and know the tender touch of love. 
Yet may I depart with joy, as one who journeys home 
at evening. 



103 



MY KIN. 

If I have called to mind one' long laid low; 
(Thy better self) thou art my kin; 
I am not he, although 
I know him, too, within. 



104 



WHO SLEEPETH HERE. 

Who sleepeth here within this bed 

He will be dead, 

While through the night the darkness creeps 

Round where he sleeps 

So silently, but wakes him not, 

Nor moves a jot 

Of all that hangs and stands around, 

Nor makes a sound; 

But creeps and creeps and blacker grows, 

Until who knows 

But spirits dance upon the sheet 

With nimble feet ! 

Perhaps his own soul goes about 

Within the rout, 

Perhaps his own soul wags its toes™ 

I say, who knows! 

And dances hard and laughs and smiles 

Through many miles 

Within the darkened, darkened room 

Of deepest gloom. 

And when the revelry is done, 

Before the sun 



105 



Begins to peep above the hill, 

On tip-toes still 

His own soul then will crawl in bed 

Beside the dead, 

And pull his ears and pull his nose 

Until the doze 

Is broken quite — then quick as can 

It's in the man; 

And all is o'er and all is done — 

The night is run. 

And now you laugh at this strange thought 

And say 'tis naught 

But nonsense from a mad heart's throes — 

But yet who knows ! 



106 



CROESUS'S DREAM. 

He lay that night in fitful sleep, 

For schemes of gold that day were deep, 

And plans for sordid gain 

Yet tossed within his brain. 

He dreamed his gardens grand he trod 
Till morn. An angel fair from God 
He saw nearby the gate 
He asked to be his mate. 

He told of all who lived by toil 
In houses his, on bounteous soil, 
And that in trade he led; 
And asking then he said: 

"I've gained so much of earth, shall I 
Not merit heaven when I die?" 
"Not so," the angel quoth, 
"No man can merit both." 



107 



THE VOICE. 

I sought to write a lofty theme, 
Some sweet and righteous poet's dream; 
When quick there came from out my heart 
A ghastly voice that made me start: 
"Such work is for the just," it said, 
"Almost thy heart and soul are dead; 
If thou would'st lead men to the light, 
First bring thyself from out the night." 



108 



• A TOAST TO SOMBRE STUDENTS. 

This world a riddle hard you call — 

A mess from which you fain would shrink? 

Perhaps 'tis wisdom, all in all, 

To learn to laugh as well as think. 

Let wildly unrepressed the jest 
Rush past the luscious lip, 
Twill bring a round of goodly sound 
And make our laughter trip. 

And let the spirit light take flight 

From out the sombre sea, 

To memories, gleams, and glad wild dreams 

In hearts of you and me. 

And let the stories come and some 
Of love and suitors bold; 
So long they last that much is past 
Of life in fashions old. 

A sombre student I should die, 
If lost in theory's sea; 
For life holds cheers as well as tears. 
Take this old toast from me: 



109 



This world a riddle hard you call — 
A mess from which you fain would shrink ? 
Perhaps 'tis wisdom, all in all, 
To learn to laugh as well as think. 



110 



WILL YOU COME BACK? 

Will you come back to me, 

My friend, 

Where day's sweet silent shafts still blend 

Night's sea — 

Will you come back to me? 

I think of you in silent hours, 

You know 

The dawn and dark drag on how slow 

'Neath bowers 

Alone in evening hours. 

I need you more with all the years 

That come, 

Each bringing its fast growing sum 

Of fears. 

I need you more with years. 

Some place you've gone, I know not where. 

I bend 

My head each stilly night and send 

A prayer 

To "lands I know not where." 



ill 



And should you hear my voice at last, 

Come quick, 

Soon will the night be falling thick, 

And past 

Will be my voice at last. 

And once again we'll live in dreams 
Of youth, 

When all was joy and hope and truth. 
It seems you're here amid my dreams. 

Will you in truth then come to me, 

My friend, 

Where day's sweet silent shafts still blend 

Night's sea — 

Will you cpme back to me? 



112 



TELL ME 

Come tell me, you who verses write — 
Do you with might 
Betray your inmost thought? 
And you who paint these pictures grand- 
Do they all stand 
For what your heart has wrought ? 
And you who cut the marble cold — 
Does it now hold 
The things your life has taught? 
And you, O you, who sweetly sing ! 
Do your words bring 
The bliss your soul has caught? 



113 



IN THE NIGHT'S MYSTERIOUS STILLNESS. 

Have you ever walked out in the still, still night, 
and sat where you could see the lights 
dying one by one in the distant city — 

Sat until the stars sang to rest the weariness of the 
world in you — until you lost yourself 
in dreams on the soft bosom of the night, 

And felt again the peace of early youth welling 

up in you like a fountain of sweet waters — 
until like a child in the father's arms, 
you felt unafraid, 

And withered memories bloomed again in that 
innner garden, and little things were 
forgot in the vast stillness of the 
glorious growing night, 

And the same old ships of gold that sailed o'er 
the Pharaohs sailed o'er you in the 
same old sea of dark, 

And epochs and wars and the myriad passions 
and loves of the myriad years faded in 
the infinite peace of the still, still night? 



114 



IF THE NOISE OF THE CITY. 

If the noise of the city offend you, go afield, 
when you may, with the birds and the 
wild free life that troubles not ; 

The growing grain and the placid sky have a kind 
of voice ; and though you are alone, the 
boundlessness of the universe is with you. 

The dream of imperishable passions in old history, 
the love of mothers for children, and the love 
of children, born and unborn, and all love, 
swarm in the soft air, speaking to the 
inner ear in the still language. 

Go afield with the birds and the growing grain 
and the placid sky, and dream and forget; 
and you will see that you are changed when 
you awake and the gleams of the city peep 
in your twilight returning. 



:i5 



PRIVATE INTERPRETATIONS. 

He said, "I saw you very late last night; 
Some business, sir, that made it right 
For you to walk the dark so dread 
And wild?"— 

"An engagement with the stars," I said- 
He smiled. 

"And once on Clinton Road at early morn 
I saw you out when most men scorn 
To rise. Had you seen some one fair?" 
He chaffed. — 

"Oh, yes! I met the sunrise there." — 
He laughed. 



116 



HOPE 

Deny me all the good of earth — 

All joy and soul-rebounding mirth, 

All weajth and rank and love's great days; 

But leave one thing by which to cope 

With ebbing life's dim evening rays — 

Leave me but hope. 



117 



THE POET AND THE PIRATE. 

A Query. 
I. 

He sang a song once in his youth, 

A song from out his heart, 

A peal of tender truth, 

Of simple life and honest deeds, 

Of love and faith in God; 

As sweet as though through reeds 

The summer wind itself had sung, 

And played upon the harp 

That nimble nature strung. 

But soon forgot, in stress of years, 

And tasks and wearied flesh 

And silent inner tears — 

Forgot the warming tenderness 

Of boyish dreams, yet knew 

That each year's light grew less. 

Until the youth that sang the song 

Had passed, but he still moved 

Among the changing throng; 

And lived as one born hard and gray, 

Who'd never dreamed, and quite 

118 



Forgot his boyish lay, 

And daily plied a crafty trade, 

Until his coffers full 

Aside he'd smiling laid; 

And they that crossed his path at mart 

Accursed his cunning hand 

And grinding, selfish heart. 

II. 

The tender song of truth lived, too, 

And crept its silent way 

To many a heart of rue, 

To hamlets where of wearied toil 

Men rest in stilly eve 

From turning o'er the soil. 

In cities many a weakened heart 

Took faith and strength again 

Life's restless work to start. 

And children built upon its cheer, 

And gray and aged men 

It spared from coming fear — 

Now this the query that I bring, 

When life is done, how will 

God straighten out this thing 



119 



Of youthful singer and his cause- 
Of pirate at the mart? 
But one in flesh there was, 
Yet surely two in point of heart. 
If one and he condemned, 
What of the gentler part? — 
O dreamy, youthful singer, gone 
The way the world of years, 
In that last rising dawn, 
I'll listen for thy voice again, 
As oft I heard it low 
And sweet — I'll listen then ! 



120 



DREAM-WORK. 

Tis great to dream 

Though one should be a shirker, 
But greater far 

To dream and be a worker. 



121 



O SWEET CONTENT. 

O sweet content ! where is thy mild abode 
Where I may dwell in endless peace ? 
Show me the much sought road 
And give the lease. 

The answer came, "Then cease to vainly roam 
In search of me, for thou wilt find 
My quiet hidden home 
Within thy mind." 



122 



THE DREAMER AND THE DEAD. 

The dreamer to the flesh must yield, 
Else life's a passing eddy; 
But he who lives in flesh alone, 
Why — he's quite dead already. 



123 



1 SIT AND SMILE AT MYSELF. 

I. 

I sit and smile at myself, 
As deep into the dark I dream and write. 
What boots it to me that I should waste my youth 
And burn the oil of night ? 
For I'll but live my little day, 
And then away. 

I sit and smile at myself, 

As dreaming half the sweet of life I miss, 

And beat my soul against the deadened wall 

Of fate, and lose the kiss 
Of love and laughter light, 
As here I write. 

I sit and smile at myself, 
And yet as I dip oar in life's swift sea, 
I somehow feel that I, poor fool, still do 
The work that's meant for me. 
So on and on and on I write 
Into the night. 



124 



II. 

Sing on, O singers all! 

(A voice calls out) sweet dreamers, dream yet on 
And chant and chant upon the beach of night, 
Until the graying dawn 
Finds flags of brotherhood unfurled 
Across the world. 

For life's a battle hard 

And singers still must come from out the throng 
To soften them who in the hot pursuit 
Will listen to a song. 
So spin thy lays in ringing rhyme 
At midnight time. 

This be excuse enough, 
Thou scribbling, ever scratching, jingling seer, 
And in the final counting of the world, 
When each man's page is clear, 
And all is o'er with earth's wild pace, 
Thou'lt have thy place. 



125 



MY YOUTH AND I. 

I said good-bye to him, 
My youth, myself, 
1 said good-bye, the time 
Had come in truth. 

His hand was soft in mine, 
His cheeks were red, 
His lips like those of girls' 
I've heard it said. 

No petty falsehood did 
His eyes bedim; 
And women freely went 
Their ways with him. 

He said not always could 
He stay with me; 
And so we parted, I, 

My youth and he. 

One thing he left behind, 
His image here, 
Drawn in memory's hall 
That with the past grows dear. 

126 



Dreaming now in twilight, 
The picture dim 
I see again, again 
I walk with him. 

Again we dream and drink 
Of love's sweet wine; 
The lips of olden days 
Are pressed on mine. 

And gleaming golden worlds 
Of mystic light 
Float o'er our heads upon 
The sea of night. 

And whispered music lisps 
From trembling leaf 
Some old forgotten songs 
Of love and grief. 

And if I go at last 
Where all is fair, 
I pray my youth again 
Will meet me there. 

127 



And when my aged eyes 
Are no more dim, 
I'll take his hand and say, 
"Hello" to him. 



128 



AS I LOOK INTO YOUR FACE, O NIGHT! 

I. 

As I look into your face, O night ! 
I feel the magic tissue of the dark 
That coolly presses on my fevered face and breast; 
I see the beckoning stars, pledges of my early God, 
The changing lines of distant hills, 
The glistening water in the moon's still light, 
The shadows of passing lovers, arm in arm, 
Dreaming in this moment's fleeting bliss, 
The old man musing of times forgot and dead, 
The maiden patiently waiting for the familiar step, 
The well-mated husband seeking rest at home, 
The young mother singing tender love songs, 
The darkened woods with magic memories filled, 
The dusty road with the myriad noises of the strange dark, 
The gleams of lonely houses, 
And the lurid gleams of distant cities — 
As I look into your face, O night! 

II. 

As I look into your face, O night ! 
I see the temples of my early dreams, 



129 



The music of evening winds lisps in the dark, 

The music of my life goes o'er the world, 

I am the world, and one with the infinite God, 

And there is in this hour no mine and thine, 

The stars speak, the stillness, too, has language — 

I understand; eternity broods upon the world. 

I see my calm face, ruddy and fresh with youth; 

Anguish and bliss alike sleep as with the dead, 

Dumb lie the martyrs beside the babes in oblivion, 

Speechless the tongues that commanded the world; 

Kings, nations, history, fade 

With the crimson blood of wars past. 

All is still, peaceful, eternal, 

And strange things arise out of the sea of dark — 

As I look into your face, O night ! 



130 



SLEEP SWEETLY. 

Sleep sweetly now that the gates of the 
crimson night are closed, and leave 
to-morrow's struggle for to-morrow; 

The earth is peaceful, only the stars and still moon 
are abroad, and they wage no war. 



131 



SOMETHING WILL RISE IN YOU. 

Occasionally permit self-abandonment to the caprice 
of beauty; rush past the sentinel that 
keeps you in the prisoned city, and 
live for an hour in the house of the 
world, acquainting yourself with the 
still people of the air. 

Learn the music of a summer night by the restless wave 
of the sea, or surrender to the sunlight 
of an open country where the illimitable 
sky at last meets to kiss the sweet, green earth, 
and stay till the crimson shafts 
burn the western world; 

And something will rise in you that is not connected 
with the tiring routine of your trade — 
something strange and calm. 



1S2 



GOOD NIGHT. 

Good night, thou sweet, old world, good night; 

Enfold me in the gentle light 

Of other days, when gleams 

Of dewy meadows held my dreams; 

And quiet walks, as day sank low, 

Dispelled each touch of woe. 

Let me forget these joys be gone, 

But feel them coming on 

From out the past, with laughter's cries 

And dream-enamored skies 

Of old. One hand let me hold tight. 

Good night, thou sweet, old world, good night. 



133 



In The Gardens Of Amour. 



YES OR NO. 

I know my heart and yet I answer not, 

For some I've seen grow sad by deep regret. 

Better than love that fails is solitude, 

Barren and hungry-hearted to the last. 

It has still the happiness of day dreams, 

For love that fails awakes the sleeper quick 

With ruthless hands of saddened memory. 

Better is solitude that still is sweet 

In thought and not unkindly looked upon, 

Whose virgin cheeks remember not love's kiss 

At break of dawn nor in night's deepest sleep, 

Whose breast is strange to touch of children lips. 

Far better ne'er to know love's throbbing joy 

Than sadly to remember love is dead, 

And hear cold words that once were soft and sweet, 

And feel no more the press of eager arms 

Where oft thy head did lie in bliss at eve, 

And deign to beg where once thou didst permit. 

Give me stern love that's fierce in jealousy, 

Ardent, like love that's born by open fields 

'Mid silence save the soft winds whispering, 



136 




FROM A PAINTING BY SIR JOHN WILLAIS 



YES OR NO 



And grows each starry night by garden stile, 

And lingers late before the last farewell; 

So strange and wondrous sweet it would not part 

But for the swiftly moving pallid stars 

That call ere long the noiseless break of dawn; 

Love that does not forget the first sweet kiss, 

The gentle, hesitating touch of hand, 

That blissful calm that made us one at first 

By cheerful glow of winter evening fire ; 

Such love that stronger grows through changing years, 

When age shall steal the rose from off my cheek 

And dim my eyes and bend me slowly down. 

And in that distant time wilt thou forget 

The ancient trees 'neath which we sat at dusk, 

And how, like twilight's spreading dark, our souls 

Went forth with night's still music o'er the world, 

And we both dwelt again in olden times 

By glistening shores of golden liquid seas, 

And heard the echoed songs of all the world 

Resound as softer grew the thickening dark? 

Love's music old, wilt thou then break the reed 

In twain by cruel neglect of thy warm lips, 

Or wilt thou find the music sweeter still, 

137 



Like early childhood's oft repeated songs ? 

Though I pale before thee on life's long way, 

Wilt thou then still find joy in all my smiles ? 

And sit with gladness by my side at eve ? 

And walk with me through memory's olden lanes, 

To mark again the hallowed spots where first 

Thou kissed my cheek and shyly spoke my name — 

Where once with saddened hearts we quarreled awhile. 

And thou with moistened eyes besought my love, 

Which was again thine own ere thou didst ask — 

And where in shade of yonder sighing woods 

Oft tranced I sat and listened to thy hopes, 

And silently implored a part in all 

Close by thy side through joyous coming years? 

When once I give thee all wilt thou forget, 

In stress of other things, to kiss the lips 

That yearn for thee by lonely evening light ? 

Then wilt thou whisper in my ear as now, 

And set astir the chords of love's sweet dream, 

And say the things that draw me close to thee 

Ere slumber close our eyes in still of night ? 

I hear again thy oft repeated vows. 

Would thou wert nigh to still my wavering thoughts, 

And speak once more the words that are my bliss — 

That feed my heart which thou hast hunger taught. 

138 



TO YOU WHO COME AT EVENING. 

I know you oft have told me, dear, 
The world is full of hate and strife; 
But I'm content with you and life — 
With you each night beside me here. 

You often fear that I am sad, 
Because some things you think I miss; 
I would not lose a single kiss 
For that which makes some persons glad. 

And when you touch me with your hand, 
And say the words you used to say, 
Why — all the night is turned to day, 
And I forget the things I'd planned. 

And often when we here have sat, 
And I have said, "Tell me again," 
I've seen you smile a bit, but then, 
You see, we women live on that. 

We women love that we may live; 
The heart is hungry, too, and I — 
No matter if you don't know why — 
Well, I'm content with what you give. 

139 



'TIS RAINING NOW. 

Tis raining now 
And love is past, 
And from the brow 
Of day at last 
The with'ring night 
Shuts out the light 
Until to-morrow. 

Ah, well, let be — 
The sun will rise 
By morning's knell 
From out the skies. 
Though love's not mine, 
The sun will shine 
Again to-morrow. 



140 



AFTER DAY. 

Draw your chair beside me here, 
As in other times, my dear; 
Needn't talk, or even smile, 
Sit in silence for awhile. 
Knowing you're beside me so, 
As the light is burning low, 
And the night is growing cool, 
While the stilly hours rule — 
Just contentment over all 
As the shadows on us fall, — 
Tis the best of all our life, 
After each day's toil and strife, 
In the time of night and dew, 
Thus to sit alone with you. 



141 



A WOMAN'S QUESTION. 

Am I not meek ? 

I give my hand, my lips, my cheek, 

My dear, to you — 

My life, my soul; and shall not rue. 

Sink deep in joy 

And revel long, I'll be thy toy, 

My dear; from now 

To play the part you'll teach me how. 

To thy demands 

Of dawn and dark, though like the sands, 

My dear, I yield. 

Wilt thou my aged heartaches shield ? 

Thy heart's caprice, 

For all of me, will it ne'er cease, 

My dear, to cling 

To both the flesh and soul I bring? 



142 



LET PASS. 

To J. F. R. 
Let pass, dear heart, let pass 
This pain, this brief distress that grieves thee so— 
These unkind words, and doubtful glancing eyes 
In which till now had shone but kindly looks; 
I say let pass the talk of talkers all. 
Not one still star of all the night knows aught 
Of their ill words, nor does the growing green 
In stilly woods where plays the summer sun, 
Nor shall the days that come to thee anon, 
Nor shall the gentle rain of summers nigh, 
Nor olden paths that sweetly greet thy feet. 
Thy soul's deep purposes they do not know; 
Or knowing, still they could not understand. 
Keep thou yet on the way thou lovest best, 
For none of all the world knows it as thou, - 
And all the precious facts that are thy life. 
Therefore, this brief distress that grieves thee so, 
Let pass, dear heart, let pass. 



143 



THE LOVES OF OTHER YEARS. 

Where are they, 

The loves of other years, 

The smiles, the walks in evening still, 

The limpid, lithesome, fancy-worlds 

With cherished secrets none shall know 

Of childish hopes and fears — 

Where are they, 

The loves of other years ? 

Where are they, 

The loves of other years, 

When sunny paths led through the fields, 

Oft trod by feet that hastened not, 

To cooling, shady woods where dwelt 

Sweet endless dreams of life's good cheers- 

Where are they, 

The loves of other years ? 



144 



Where are they, 

The loves of other years, 

The eyes of faith, the timid touch 

And gentle voice, the dainty step 

Across the silvery, singing creek, 

The face that ever still appears— 

Where are they, 

The loves of other years? 

Where are they, 

The loves of other years, 

The lips that sang the nursery songs, 

And they that in the noiseless night, 

In whispers low and unforgot, 

Betrayed their hearts with laughs and tears— 

Where are they, 

The loves of other years ? 

Where are they, 

The loves of other years — 

In some far world of endless bliss, 

With sweet caress and hand in hand, 

Do they again live as on earth ? 

O Thou, whose love my question hears, 

Where are they, 

The loves of other years ? 

145 

10 



Where are they, 

The loves of other years ? 

Old memory will not let them pass. 

Though faded be the pictures now 

In dusty bygone galleries old, 

Again I ask as evening nears — 

Where are they, 

The loves of other years? 



146 



. THE DREAM. 

I thought I lived with you beneath a sun 
Whose golden rays ne'er left the deep blue sky, 
But shone and shone where rolling meadows lie, 
With playful smile spring's blossoms wooed in fun, 
And danced in leafy vales where waters run 
And where the sweet brook's murmurs never die, 
And on the mountain peaks so still and high 
Which all but fearless strong-winged birds must shun. 
I thought that time went sweet and soft and slow, 
And left no marks save those of gentleness 
That bound thee to my life with strong caress; 
And I saw naught but all thy soul's deep truth, 
No fading bloom, nor form the years bent low, 
But ever still the beauty of thy youth. 



147 



WHERE LOVE ABIDES. 

Where love abides 

There is no talk of duties mine and yours; 

The ever glowing light within allures 

Each willing foot and hand 

To move or still to stand 

Whate'er betides — 

Where love abides. 

Where love abides 

There is no grief or secret inner thought 

Or plan or longing hope the day has wrought 

But each may fully know 

The purport high or low; 

And no one chides 

Where love abides. 

Where love abides 

The first gray gloom of leaden falling dark 

Brings joy; and each will hastened will hark 

To hear that sweet old sound, 

As footsteps oft resound 

At eventides — 

Where love abides. 



148 



Where love abides 

The tender buds of gentleness within 

Will bloom the day had stifled 'mid the din ; 

And solitude grows sweet 

Where hands so quickly meet 

And lips besides — 

Where love abides. 

Where love abides 

The silvery breaking dawn once more finds mates 

United in their secret themes and fates 

Forever and a day; 

And so runs life away 

In goodly strides 

Where love abides. 



149 



THE BRIDE 

You tremble, dear. See, 1 am not afraid, 

And all myself I give, my heart is light; 

The crimson on my cheek should flee in fright, 

And yet does not; 'tis there delayed 

Because I have no fear. I oft have prayed, 

With warming breath of whispers in the night 

For this sweet hour with you, and tight 

Have clasped my hands, as in my thoughts you strayed. 

My lips I've saved for you and all the cheer 

That summer's dewy morns tossed in my heart 

That, when at eve you're wearied, I might start 

Some trifling little talk which all the fear 

Of morrows and the day should swiftly part 

From you, and make you glad that I was near. 



150 



A BACHELOR'S WINTER EVENING REVERY. 

You didn't think, 

When last we stood 

Together near the margin of the wood, 

And looked o'er rolling valleys' snowy lands, 

With toying, tight-clasped hands 

And eyes that fancied years 

Of joy and lover's cheers — 

I say, you didn't think deep in your heart 

That time would drive us — O so far apart? 

And do you mind 

How I made through 

The drifted fleecy snow a path for you, 

And how the evening's dark came o'er us slow 

And in the distance low 

Gleamed cheering household fires bright, 

And then the peaceful night ? 

I say, and do you mind how long I'd stay 

Near you while evening hours slipped away? 

151 



I cannot think — 

I will not think 

That all is done and past and there's no link 

In that old chain of memory that will 

Draw us together still, 

Though many a winter's snow has gone 

And dark and stilly dawn, 

I say, I cannot think I've had life's due 

Until again I've made a path for you. 

A path for you — 

A path for you ! 

'Mid dear old fancy's snow, if you but knew, 

In stilly winter eves, within the wood 

Where silent we oft stood, 

A many a path for you I've made 

Where winds had barriers laid. 

But one— just one more path I claim my due, 

The long one through the blooms and snows with you. 



152 



TO-MORROW I'M AWAY. 

Come here and take my hand 

And press my lips, 

Just for today — 

To-morrow I'm away; 

With pulsing heart 

And quickened feet 

I'll tread another street; 

And in the toils 

Of duty's net 

I may sometimes forget 

You for awhile, 

And this sweet day 

In life's all stormy way; 

And oft I'll know 

The want of heart 

Again life's work to start, 

So press my lips 

Just for today — 

To-morrow I'm away. 

153 



THE DEAD WIFE. 

O thou whose lips I've pressed in hush of night, 
Whose tiny hand has trembled in my own 
Beneath the talking boughs the wind has blown, 
Hid snugly from the evening's starry light — 
O thou, my all, why hast thou quit my sight? 
Thy straggling curls will no more touch my cheek, 
Thy voice and smile are gone where'er I seek 
With watchful eyes and my strong passion's might. 
If all my soul's deep grief thou now dost see, 
If thou dost know the lonely inward tears 
My heart hath shed along the saddened years, 
Break through thy silent doors to life and me, 
Who hourly watch and wait with trembling fears, 
Lest in the realm of death I know not thee. 



154 



Love's Tragic Convention. 

i. 

AT THE DANCE. 

We circled oft the hall in varying motions, 
And talked, through all the music wrought, 

Of friends and dress and common things; 
But here is the speech 1 thought: 

"Before the night has yielded all its music 
And the dance is o'er and dawn is here, 
And the dream waltz plays as each sleeps on, 
O say you love me, dear ! 

"1 hold you near to me; you are my captive; 

And the mellow night is full of dew, 
And as the winking, sleepy stars 

Wink on, I dance with you. 

"O say you love me, dear, while yet the music 
Still trembles through the waves of night, 

Your fallen curls creep o'er my face, 
And the house of life is light. 



155 



"For o'er and o'er again this evening's dancing 
I'll dance with you in memory's hall, 

And feel your whispers on my cheek 
And the rebel curls that fall. 

"And when life's lonely way grows hard and narrow, 
And some great lord your hand shall sue, 

I'll then remember fondly still 
That I have danced with you." 

Instead, we talked of friends and dress and nothings ; 

And the silent speech my heart had said 
Lay silent still, and the dance wore on, 

Till the dance and night were fled. 

II. 
VERSES TO A WEDDED SWEET HEART. 

I am not rich in spirit now, 

I should not write at all; 
But rather calmly hold my peace 

While leaves and raindrops fall. 

The autumn days are passing fast 
And chilly winds now moan, 



156 



And frosty winter comes again 
To find me still alone. 

1 only wished to say to you, 
Whom time's unending flight 

Has borne so far away from me, 
I think of you tonight. 

I think of you tonight again; 

Again you are with me, 
In other autumns long ago 

Beside the talking sea. 

Again the sea gulls soar and dip, 
The waves break on the sand ; 

You whisper in my ear again 
And hold me by the hand. 

And long we sit content with life, 
While twilight shades the sea, 

And one by one the stars appear — 
Again you sit with me. 

The music of a thousand worlds 
Now fills the gloaming eve, 

157 



And olden songs sing out again — 
We slowly rise to leave. 

And though the world grow gray with night 

And misty winds turn chill, 
And village lights peep in the dark — 

With me you wander still. 

And on and on. At last we pause, 

And stand awhile to say 
Good night, again a sweet good night, 

And turning I'm away. 

I loath to break this golden dream 

Of olden days long past, 
Of crimson skies and dew and dawn, 

It holds my spirit fast. 

I only wished to say to you, 

Whom time's unending flight 
Has borne so far away from me, 

I think of you tonight. 

But I'll obey convention, dear, 

And censure's frowns eschew ; 
And so I'll tear these verses up 

That I have sung to you. 

158 



III. 

AND EACH PASSED ON. 

1 have been at the house of a friend; 

An evening feast was laid; 
I met there a woman about my own age. 

We desired to know each other; 
And both tried ; but I lacked the cleverness, 

And she the courage; 
We did not break through the crust of conventionalities 

Of our over-civilized generation. 
Had we been children of the woods and fields, 

Of the rude earth, 
Then we might have spoken; 
But as it was, we brushed elbows in the night, 

And each passed on. 

IV. 
FOR NEITHER DARED. 

He saw her once, 

And mused that day and in the night till late, 
A-wond'ring what might be their fate 
If fortune brought them near. 



159 



Again he saw, 

Again he builded castles in the years. 

But could he win who'd known such tears 

That flowed beneath a smile? 

And once again — 

And she with wand' ring eyes, like his, went on, 
For neither dared. Now the day is gone; 
But still he dreams his dream. 

V. 
WHILE A SEASON CHANGED. 

While a season changed I lingered in a strange city, 

filled with men and women and children, 

just as other cities, 
With buildings and trade and the petty histories of each, 

and the petty histories of families 

preserved by word of lips. 
With nightly entertainments and spectacles, with actors 

and orators and pleasant singers, 

with ministers, with rich and poor, 

just as other cities; 

But all has passed out of me now except the 
still face of a solitary woman 

looking at me through the dim years. 
160 




BY CLARENCE WHITE 



HER SOLITUDE 



VI. 

HER SOLITUDE 

My life is still tonight, no bitterness, 

Nor joy, and but one endless thought creeps out, 

As dreaming here I sit and think about 

My days that soon shall fade and grow still less. 

And yet, O God ! I cannot, cannot guess 

Why lonely I must dwell and ever doubt 

The time will come when he, my own, will rout 

My fears and all my restless heart's distress. 

Why didst thou plant in me this longing so 

That in my wake and sleep forever calls 

And yet beyond my pail of fortune falls ? 

Not always I'll be young, the bloom will go. 
All this, O God! I have not understood. 
Am I not worthy — have not I been good? 



161 

11 



VII. 
I PUT YOU ASIDE 

I put you aside 

With slow and gentle hands 

And silent inner grief, 

For fear that dreary days 

Will both betide— 

And yet I put you aside. 

I put you aside, 
Though my one light of life 
Go out, and all that made 
This world so beautiful 
Shall pass and hide — 
And yet I put you aside. 

I put you aside: 

The world (and God, some say,) 

Command — I knowing well 

The heart no more will wake 

That here has died — 

And yet I put you aside. 

162 



I put you aside, 

(O God, what recompense 

Can'st thou make me when oft 

In evening's loneliness 

My soul thee chide!) 

And yet I put you aside. 

VIII. 
HE WILL COME 

He will come, she said 
Deep in her bounding, girlish heart, and smiled 

With confidential lips, 
And childhood's dreaming fancies wild 

That over blissful pathways led — 
He will come, she said. 

He will come, she said, 
As many daily tasks and years came on; 

And from her cherry lips 
And cheeks the girlish glow had gone; 

And though her glad, wild dreams had fled — 
He will come, she said. 



163 



He will come, she said, 
As o'er the mellow chords of her pure heart 

The hand of bitterness 
Oft now and then a tune would start, 

When some old playmate's life was wed — 
He will come, she said. 

He will come, she said, 
And sweetly smiled with faith again serene 

In that one perfect love 
Beyond the faded" and the green 

Of earth. Ere last they laid her dead, 
He has come, she said. 

IX. 
UPON NEPONSET'S SHORE 

At eve hard by Neponset's crystal wave — 

Neponset's gleaming wave — 
I saw her last. The night was wild, 
The dark fell fast, and cold the blast, 

And all alone she ran; 
Along the snowy path no sound she gave 
That eve hard by Neponset's crystal wave. 

164 



Her pallid face, part hid by fallen hair, 

Long, streaming, waving hair, 
The wind made rise and fall and curl ; 
And wild the guise about her eyes 

As she ran by me swift, 
All open at the throat, her arms both bare, 
Her pallid face part hid by fallen hair. 

I watched her as she sped along the night, 

The glimmer of the night, 
Till she was gone. I went to rest, 
Yet ever on until the dawn 

She ran within my sleep, 
Her hair awry, her face a haggard white — 
I watched her as she sped along the night. 

Next morn as I walked on the frozen shore, 

Neponset's blustrous shore, 
I saw barred tight a mourning house, 
To mark the flight a soul that night 

Had made. Of one I asked, 
"Who's dead?" — "The love-mad huss," she is no 

more — 
Was found at dawn upon the frozen shore." 



165 



Now ever on that gusty, fitful shore, 

Neponset's icy shore, 
I see her go through night's wild blast, 
In lonely woe, still to and fro; 

The marble face, the eyes 
Of withered white — she paces evermore 
Upon Neponset's fitful, icy shore. 



166 



WHEN I COME HOME 

When I come home will you be there to greet 
Me with a smile and outstretched arms, 
A heart of quickened beat, 
When our eyes meet ? 

And will you tell me all your thoughts and deeds, 
As in the gloaming night again 
We take the path that leads 
O'er grassy meads? 

And as of old will you my grief beguile — 
The grief the weary days have brought? 
And will you make me smile 
With you the while? 

And as the mellow years come on, will you 
Remember still that love is young 
And fresh as morning dew 
For me and you? 

I'm coming home ere long to you who wait 
So patiently as seasons go, 
Beside the woodland gate 
In evening's late. 



167 



In fancy's eye a thousand times I see 
You there with eager, anxious look 
That scans the rolling lea 
In search for me. 

I see you run into my arms at last, 
And feel the tremor of your lips, 
That softly words would cast 
Which oft have passed. 

I'm coming home ere long to you who wait 
So patiently as seasons go, 
Beside the woodland gate 
In evenings late. 



168 



BEAUTY. 

Though withered be the cheeks and eyes, 
Like some dead rose at dawn; 

Oft know the soul and in surprise 
The withered things are gone. 

Sunbeams the rose's red replace; 
The soul's the sun unto the face. 



169 



A MAN AND A WOMAN. 

A man and a woman once 

walked in the evening to a wood, 

that the trees might hide them from the light. 

Far into the deep shadows wandered they, 
when one said, in fear, "Let us return." 
(No matter which one said it.) 

Still they wandered in the dark, 

watching the light within themselves, 
as it glowed in the garden of their love. 

The night came over the world and the wood. 
Seeing they had tarried too long, 
they determined to return at dawn. 

Well, it is a silly story; 
but — do you know — 
it never grew morning in that wood again. 



170 



I FLING THEE TO THE WINDS. 

Thou faded rose— thou faded rose! 
How many poets, God but knows, 
Have sung of thee, thou withered flow'r, 
That I have kept unto this hour. 

And thou art brown, thy leaves are dead; 
Long years thy master has been wed, 
And quite forgot the boyish hand 
That plucked thee up in yon woodland. 

And pressed thee to his lips and mine, 
And said, "Our love, like some old wine, 
Shall with the years but sweeter grow," 
Then kissed me, in that long ago. 

Thou faded rose! I give thee up 
Once more to earth, and no more sup 
Thy memory's olden wine; but fling 
Thee on the winds the night doth bring. 



171 



PARTING. 

I hate to part from you, my dear. 

I hold your hand and say 

Good-bye, you hear? 

But somehow yet I stay 

Near where you are while moments pass. 

And is it true you're sad 

As I, alas? 

Or maybe glad, 

And only tremble so for fears 

That I should deeply grieve 

From inward tears 

Before I leave. 

I cannot tell what life will be 

So far away from you. 

Then you'll miss me? 

And is it true 

That here you'll stand in early night, 

Remembering how still 

We've seen day's light 

Descend yon hill 

That now is hid in mellow / gloom 

With magic memories laid 



172 



Of love's sweet bloom 
That shall not fade? 
And will you wish me well, my dear, 
As time goes on so fast, 
Until I'm here 
By you at last ? 

And tell me you will not forget 
The stilly eve our eyes 
First shyly met 
In wild surprise. 

But now they look away from me 
Toward the gloaming hill. 
Is is to see 
The night fall still? 
I know you see what's in my heart, 
And have seen— O so oft! 
I cannot start, 
Your hand is soft 
In mine ; your lips now tremble, too ; 
You know the words I'd say 
Just now to you 
While yet I stay. 

And thus, they'll out, I love you so 
That part of me would die- 
But, then, you know, 
And so— Good-bye. 

173 



TO BE WITH YOU. 

To be with you this evening, rarest of the evenings all, 
And listen to the whispering leaves and to the night bird's call, 
The silvery moonlight on your face — 
To be with you in some still place. 

To be with you and watch the tiny budding myriad stars, 
Wee far-off golden worlds beyond the earth's unkindly jars, 
As quietly they march night's sea 
Above the world and you and me. 

To be with you somewhere within this evening's mystic shade, 
To hear your plans and hopes and tell you mine, all unafraid 
That you'd forget to hold them dear 
When I'm away and you're not here. 

To be with you and listen to the harp of summer's breeze, 
Alone with night and wavering stars, beneath the lisping trees, 
To feel the cool of falling dew — 
To be somewhere alone with you. 

To be with you this evening, rarest of the evenings all, 
And listen to the whispering leaves and to the night bird's call, 
The silvery moonlight on your face — 
To be with you in some still place. 



174 



LOVE'S PARADOX. 

Here is my hand, 
It holds my heart, 
You understand. 

And with it goes 
Whate'er may come 
Of joys and woes. 

It is my all 
I give to you 
This even's fall. 

My hand — take it — 
Gently — the heart — 
You will break it! 

And yet I know 
'Twill surely break 
If you let go. 



175 



SPRING. 

A wayward, careless girl, they say thou art, 

Wild Spring, whose gurgling laugh is loud and shrill, 

Whose parted, panting lips beg kisses quick; 

And open at the throat thou hast a will 

To lure lone lovers to the meshes thick. 

Thou shouldst be lodged safe in a wintry clime 

To cure thee of thy wantonness with youth, 

And made to hold thy frosted nose where chime 

The icy winds to chill thy blood forsooth. 

Thou wayward, careless girl, thou shouldst be taught 

To handle gently hearts of men and maids 

Round places where thy mischief thou hast wrought 

In witching nooks laid deep with greenish' shades. 



176 



JUST AS OF OLD. 

We walked these woods together, you and I; 

'Twas long ago, beneath this selfsame sky; 

And rustled, too, just such brown, withered leaves 

In time's old stilly, cooling autumn eves. 

And here we sat together once beside 

This spreading tree on that calm eventide, 

When first a flood of life's strange light came o'er 

Us both, and faintly whispered evermore 

That all was well, and only gentle ways 

Lay out beyond, lit by these selfsame rays. 

And then, as now, the amber sky grew dark ; 

And low and sweet the call of dove and lark 

Stole o'er the falling night, and fireflies 

Strolled through the blessed gloom in weird disguise. 

Your words were liquid then and soft and went 

Straight to my heart as if by masters sent. 

Twas long ago these evenings here with you, 

And many a sun and storm and morning's dew 

Has come and gone about these stilly trees, 

And there upon the ever-blowing leas 

Has bloomed and died each summer's tender leaf. 

And all is well, as then, and there's no grief; 



/ 177 

12 



But ever still I see you there as last 
We walked, before the years so quickly passed; 
And ever still each calling bird at night 
Brings forth your face in unforgetful light, 
And memories old that make life still a dream, 
As when we watched the sun's last fading beam. 
Where'er you are, the heart that youth did hold- 
It still is yours, e'en now, just as of old. 



178 



IF YOU WOULD SAY. 

If you would say 

What's in your heart the livelong day, 

While I am waiting, waiting still 

To hear your voice, like some sweet rill, 

Proclaim an end to this delay — 

If you would say. 

If you would say 

You know my faults, yet bid me stay 

Where your sweet face I'd always see 

Through years and all eternity, 

My deeds would then each joy repay — 

If you would say. 

If you would say — 

Henceforth through meads and woods we'd stray, 

And arm in arm go all the while 

Through open fields each lengthening mile 

'Mid sweetest scent of fallen hay — 

If you would say. 

If you would say — 

Then in the silent fall of day, 



179 



When one by one the stars appear, 
Close by your side I'd have no fear 
Of grieving doubts or wild dismay — 
If you would say. 

If you would say — 
Then for the gift of thee I'd pray 
A prayer of thanks to Him who stole 
The sea's soft music for thy soul, 
And lit thine eyes with magic's ray — 
If you would say. 



180 



THE LOVELESS MARVELED. 

She had a sorrow once, 
Born of bliss; 

Twas but a hand, a voice, 
A lover's kiss. 

It grew like mountain trees, 
Strong and tall. 
This sorrow grew to be 
Her all in all. 

It touched her lips to song. 
Over reeds 

Her fingers played — her hands 
To kindly deeds. 

The loveless marveled much, 
Seeing this; 

Not understanding aught 
The lover's kiss. 



181 



HEARTS COMMAND. 

Love some one — in God's name love some one — 
For this is the bread of the inner life, 
Without which a part of you will starve and die; 

And though you feel you must be stern, even hard, 
In your life of affairs, make for yourself at 
Least a little corner, somewhere in the 
Great world, where you may unbosom and be kind. 



182 



I SHALL COME TO HER. 

If some there be with aged mien 
Who wisely smile at love, 

And say 'tis but a childish dream 
And one they are above, 

To them 1 say who sit and smile, 

Because they so prefer, 
I pray I shall not die until 

My feet have come to her. 

I know somewhere tonight she sits 

Within her father's home, 
While I a foot-loose wanderer 

Am destined still to roam. 

But I shall find her out I know, 
And thus within her place 

She calmly sits and waits for me, 
And she will know my face. 

And one sweet day, we two shall meet, 

Whatever may occur; 
And so content I wander on, 

For I shall come to her. 



183 



THE ONE WOMAN. 

How could I help but love you, coming up a cool and radiant 

fountain in the hot and dreary night of life ? 
I swear the sins of youthful women lay upon my hands, the 

grimy sweat of wearied men in strife, 
Who'd clothed my body with garments fair, and the agonies 

of children, too, condemned to toil that I might freely 

live — 
I swear the cries of beaten slaves turned not my ear, nor wails 

of stunted children that the sea of want doth give. 
There was no order in my days. I slept and ate as instinct 

called, and heeded every wanton passion near, 
A face, a form, a game of chance, the gossip of the idle wags, 

and live to finish quickly earth's career. 
And though I shall regret what now I here confess, and cringing 

turn from this swift lash that o'er my back I send — 
I swear that thing called soul had not set torch within the blood- 
stained walls where creaked my heart, bent on low 

passion's end. 
How could I help but love you, coming like a balmy light into 

the dead and moonless night of empty years ? 
You spoke and I saw the blood of murdered innocence glare red 

upon my hands, and heard the wailing sea of tears. 



184 



You touched my hand, and through my restless life stole scenes 

of quiet woods and dancing shafts of gold upon the 

green; 
As asphodels and running vines, and shades and linnets' songs, 

and the softly sounding lyre of doves perched high 

unseen. 
Things I had dreamed of in my dreaming childhood came again, 

and solitude with you was what I longed for most ; 
Out of other distant worlds remembered visions sprang that 

long ere earthly birth I knew 'mid God's immortal host. 
And when I kissed your lips this world was born again, and in 

the still and starry night I was with you and God ; 
And truth and mercy bloomed within my soul, and kindly 

words bred fast upon my lips, and bliss came where I 

trod. 
And long I lay upon the grassy earth, your hand in mine, and 

listened to your voice that showed the better way; 
And your own God I learned to love, but loved you more o'er 

all I ever knew, you who were fated not to say. 
If I am aught and tired men and weary women know my 

voice, and smile amid their tears, it is for you; 
And if a song has left my lips, some clear and simple song that 

comforts brings within some lonely heart of rue, 
It is not mine, but comes from out the mellow shaded woods 

185 



of memory now mouldering in the faded past ; 
And if the springtide and the autumn bring reborn the songs of 

life, it is because your spirit holds me fast — 
Because I pressed my lips to yours in the secret, voiceless woods 

where asphodels and running vines forever blow, 
And where the linnet and the dove sing songs alternately unto 

the hearts that hear and understand and know. 



186 



ONE OF LONG AGO. 

Hast never sat with sadness in the stilly, stilly night, 
When all the dancing day's bright beams of sun had gone to 
flight, 

And through the pulseless falling dark a luring wind sang low 
The music that the stars march to so silently and slow? 

Hast never sat and thought of one, 'mid sad old memory's 
tears, — 
One who had lived within your heart through all the joyous 
years? 
Tis sweet this sadness that comes on when night begins to 
fall, 
And spreads its silent softening dark through chamber doors 
and hall. 

It is the only heritage that time has left me now; 

And on its steady course it keeps my vessel's shattered prow. 
And thus in corners of each life you'll find some hidden face 

That through the years keeps marching on and holds each 
soul in place. 

So let the night grow thicker still and breezes turn to storm, 

187 



There's armored safe within my heart and free from earthly 
harm 
This smiling face of one who looks into my eyes e'en now, 
While through the world I go alone till snow lies on my brow. 



188 



In Rebellion 



AMERICA. 

Lincoln, rise up from out thy tomb today, 
Thou lover of the lives of common men, 
America hath work for thee again. 
Here women want in sight of wealth's display, 
Man grinds his brother down and holds a sway 
As in the times of bloody lash and den, 
Save now the flesh is white, not black as then. 
In toiling holes young girls grow old, decay. 
Though thou art dead could but thy soul return 
In one who loved his fellow men as thou; 
Instead of greed that we might justice learn, 
Love character in place of gold as now, 
Write far across our native land's sweet soil, 
"Here none shall live upon another's toil." 



191 



TO THE MASTERS OF MEN. 

They that toil — 
What have they done 
That they should beg 
To work and run 
By your command ? 
I cannot understand. 

They that toil- 
Why do they fear 
Some heartless ill 
When you draw near 
Their slavish life, 
Bound to unending strife? 

They that toil- 
some day they'll know 
This earth is for 
Them too, and lo ! 
Who shall withstand 
Their loud and fierce command? 

They that toil — 
They slumber low; 

192 



But they shall wake 

And they shall know 

Their mighty power 

In that strange reckoning hour. 

They that toil- 
God made them too 
With love of life 
No less than you — 
'Mid breaking storms 
They'll come in myriad swarms. 

Therefore, O 

Ye masters all! 

Ere whirlwinds rise 

And temples fall 

And daylight wane, 

On earth let justice reign! 



193 

13 



THOU THAT ART IDLE BORN. 

Thou that art idle born — knowest thou the weariness of toil, 
When the flesh refuses and cries "no farther," 
And the soul believes no longer in God, 
And the night and the glorious day are hateful; 
When fear of want knocks ever at thy door, 
And evil dreams harass thy sleep? 

There are none such, sayest thou, 

O beautiful one that art idle born!" 

They are in thy house, in the street, everywhere. 

They adore thee, thy beauty, thy imperious manner, 

Thy placid eyes, and thy careless self-assurance, 

Thy soft, white flesh — 

Thou — thou that art idle born! 

What great virtue is thine 

That God has so elevated thee 

That men and women children serve thee, 

Yet thou servest not at all ? 

And what crime have they committed 

Who serve always yet are never served? 

Does God not also love them ? 



194 



No bitterness to thee that art idle born — 
Only be thou gentle and kind, 
And touch with thy soft hand the leaden brow, 
Grown ill and old in service ; 
And with thy beautiful face and thy body, 
And the things that cover thy beautiful body, 
Give thou no offense. 

Soon the shadows gather 

And creep over the garden of thy soul, 

And it grows still with thee, 

Thy memories fading like an evening's twilight, 

And thou sleepest in thy last chamber, 

And the vain flesh is humble ! 

Thou — thou that art idle born ! 



195 



EGO IPSE. 

All the questions have I asked, 
All things have I tried; 
But nothing satisfied. 
'There is no vital task 
Except to wait till time has fled 
And I am dead," 
I said. 

Thus I walked in living death, 

Smiled at God's great trick 

Of life, till I grew sick 

Of smiles; and then in breath 

All hot and vile with bitter cry 

I prayed that I 

Might die. 

Back I pushed all human creeds, 

Standing lone and nude 

With God in solitude, 

And lo! from out the weeds 

Of human thought I looked in awe, 

MYSELF I saw 

Was law. 

196 



SUNDAY NIGHT. 

Back to the world to-morrow morn, 
Back to the white-heat world, 
To grinding barter, sweat and swirl, 
Back to the lips with anger curled. 

I'd linger here in the still, still night, 
With stars and the clear, clean sky, 
And gentle words, and slowing steps 
Of worshipers going by. 

Does life demand so much of food, 
Of costly raiment rare 
That but an hour may be plucked 
From all the days of care? 

The world is sold to the mammon god; 
The many serve the few, 
And whips crack loud o'er myriad heads 
Each hour to starve or do. 

Back to the world tomorrow morn, 
Back to the white-heat world, 
To grinding barter, sweat and swirl, 
Back to the lips with anger curled. 



197 



IF YOU HAVE MADE GENTLER THE CHURLISH 

WORLD. 

If you have spoken something beautiful, 
Or touched the dead canvas to life, 
Or made the cold stone to speak — 
You who know the secret heart of beauty; 
If you have done one thing 
That has made gentler the churlish world, 
Though mankind pass you by, 
And feed and cloth you grudgingly — 
Though the world starve you, 
And God answer not your nightly prayers, 
And you grow old hungering still at heart, 
And walk friendless in your way, 
And lie down at last forgotten — 
If all this befall you who have created beauty, 
You shall still leave a bequest to the world 
Greater than institutions and rules and commerce; 
And by the immutable law of human heart 
The God of the universe is your debtor, . 
If you have made gentler the churlish world. 



198 



THE LIFE THAT NEVER DREAMS. 

The life that never dreams, nor now and then in 

the still night consults the oracle 

of the stars, 
Nor considers the mystery and beauty of our 

world and golden worlds in the ocean 

of eve as they burst through the waves of dark, 
Nor sees any love and tenderness in men, but 

dwells always in the things of its own flesh — 
That life, though bearing the semblance of 

spiritual man, proud of his immortal destiny, 

is still with the lower orders of being, 

Insensible to the enchantments that are born 
out of the beauty of the world. 



199 



THE TASK. 

I know I do not understand this world, 
This universe of life and growth and death. 
I do not damn the Maker, saying still 
Within myself that surely all is well. 
The myriad stars shine nightly in the sky, 
The earth yields forth her budding brood in spring, 
And always dawn and noon and dark succeed; 
Volcanoes burst and flooding rains descend, 
And sprigs shoot forth where barren winter lay; 
The piping winds bound through the bending trees, 
And withered leaves again return to earth ; 
Soft lips grow hard and tresses gold turn gray; 
Sweet babes are born, and stooping, aged men 
Depart into the soft and silent night. 
And not one jot of all this can I change. 

Nor you, my metaphysics peddling friend, 
Explaining how the cosmis wheels go round. 
I, too, was once a trader in that junk, 
And oft have strutted in the lecture room, 



200 



Showing all my choicest wares to students bland: 

Kant's Dinge an sick 1 doled in precious lots 

To scholars, in return for which they gave 

A year of nightly brooding, swearing still 

'Twas worth the price to be so well equipped 

For life. (1 know they cursed me later on, 

As I my pompous masters, too, have cursed.) 

And gloomy Shopenhauer's raging Will 

I crammed into the throats of sweet young men; 

And all the other tribes of babbling seers 

1 sold with profit to myself, until 

At last my heart awoke and called me fool — 

Called me fool, for I had seen how each 

By reason stoutly contradicted each; 

Saw the world submerged in theories wild, 

Saw all things proven which men pleased to think, 

Until my mind 'mid contradiction fell. 

But o'er the dreams of philosophic seers, 

I heard with certain ear the moaning cries 

That burst from out the souls of human want. 

These alone, when all else failed, were real! 

And you, my dealers in theology, 

Forgetting Christ in man-made thoughts of him, 



201 



And calling loud for patrons everywhere, 
Know you the chambers in the house of God ? 
Just how He made the thing and of what stuff ? 
With Christ have you walked through the pits of hell ? 
And do you know the souls of mortals doomed ? 
Who told you all the secret ways of God, 
That you may dole the keys of paradise 
To them that buy in fear your ragged wares ? 
Back to the vales of darkness all ye mongers 
That steal of earth its joy, and fill the world 
With midnight mists of ignorance and fear ! 
With all your wisdom not a raindrop more 
Nor less shall fall to quench the thirst of earth. 

Amid the pedantry of mountebanks, 

Parading wrathful gods with horned heads, 

The silent universe goes on its way, 

Scornful of twaddling bugs' sophistic lore. 

The myriad stars shine nightly in the sky, 

The earth yields forth her budding brood in spring; 

All nature moves as by a hand unseen. 

And not one jot of all this can I change, 

Nor you, my mortal friend, whoe'er you are. 

Ignorant am I of cosmic things, 



202 



And you, and ignorant shall ever be. 

But we are not forlorn in wild despair : 

We still may turn our eyes across the night, 

All lustrous in the gold of other worlds, 

Where seas of dark reach on to seas of dawn, 

And whisper to the silent soul within, 

That all's in place in this God-impassioned world. 

But there are things my eyes have often seen 
That stop the crimson rivers of the heart, 
That cause the breath to halt ere it rush forth 
To mingle with the breathings of the world. 
Not cosmic things no human hand can change, 
Nor tampered history, sacred of profane, 
The bouncing ball of babbling pedantry. 
But worlds of faces damned ere they did leaye 
The yielding womb to be despised of men, 
Born slaves to know the lash from childhood frail, 
And fed into the mouths of mammoth mills 
Where Christian lords pile up their godless gold. 
What boots the question here of trinity? 

And I have seen ill-shapen women stare 
From sorrow sodden faces early old. 



203 



Plodding on to toil they went at dawn, 
Childless, homeless, solitary souls. 
Once these were young and sweet to look upon, 
And fit for babes to bloom upon their breasts, 
Like drowsy roses dewey fresh at dawn. 
These oft had whispered prayers for lover's kiss 
That's born of righteous love in stilly night, 
And dreamed the dream but women understand 
Of unborn babes that smiled within their sleep, 
Nightly clamoring to be born of them. 
Unloved they wandered in a loveless world 
To join the women dead from early times, 
The helots mute of wanton avarice. 
What grief so great to wither in the bud, 
And ne'er press tight the moistened lips of love, 
To dream of music that one may not hear, 
And miss the clinging arms at break of dawn ! 
And millions yet shall die with withered breasts 
Where babes have never touched their tender lips. 

And 1 have heard the cries of younger men 
That saw no more the stars above their heads, 
Shut ever in by trade's benighting bog — 
Young men that still did hold to early dreams, 

204 



O'ermatched by them whose cunning had no heart, 

And left the prey of human vulture's greed 

With saddened eyes that kindly looked at death. 

No love's embrace to speed their nightly coming, 

Nor children clamoring for sweet caress, 

And claiming yet another fabled story 

Ere led by gentle hands to dreamland's door; 

Lonely followers of goodness still, 

Though laughed to scorn by them whom they did serve. 

What earthly captain with his spoils of trade 

Shall right the wrongs of these that lie so still, 

If God perchance forget again to touch 

To conscious life these earthly scar-marked souls, 

And light again the citadels of thought ? 

O who will close the wounds of these that fell 

Before the piping spears of avarice ? 

And here and there, I know, the sweet green earth, 

Where now some quiet planter turns the soil, 

Shall once again be wet with human blood ; 

And oft again the knife shall deftly rise 

To strike a brother down in godless wars, 

And children weep again o'er grassy mounds, 

And stooping women, from whose face the rose 

Has fled, shall think again of early love; 

205 i 



And younger women dream what might have been. 
And all for what ? That traffic patriots 
May wreck for profit's sake the weaker nations. 
O profit, crowned on high as earthly king, 
Stretching thy blood-stained hand across the world, 
Well armed with bible, rum and edged blade, 
To thee a life is but a leaf of grass; 
Thy ears are deaf to stunted children's wails, 
And dumb thy palsied tongue to mercy's word ! 
Thou soulless low-browed god of gloated gold, 
When shall we shake thee off, and once again 
Build up the kingdom of the human heart ! 

The fight to live is now with man, not nature. 
The goodly earth yields but by touch of hand 
Enough for all. But o'er the bloom of fields, 
And treasures hid deep down, and useful craft, 
The misered hand of greed crawls in the night; 
And all the air is charged with words of gain, 
From trader's shop unto the thrones of art. 
The smell of profit clings e'en to the God 
That men implore and barter with in prayer, 
And all who breathe must breathe this charged fume. 
Thus millions wither ere the noon of life 

206 



And die in soul long ere we bury them. 

The rushing steps that move in crowded marts 

Go not of choice, but driven by the lash, 

And dare not pause lest they be trampled down. 

Here then abides the work of wakened man; 
To break the chains that would a brother bind, 
And stay the misered hand that now is full, 
To draw grim profit's heel from childhood frail, 
And lose the women slaves in holes of hell, 
To lift the human heart from graves of gold, 
And knock unceasingly on temple doors 
Where feeble souls have slumbered long, 
To plant a rose in every barren breast, 
And in the din and tumult of the world 
To sing and teach and live the things of love. 

The sunshine calmly paints its twilight hues 
Each day in still extremities of earth; 
And nowhere blooms a leaf but speaks of love ; 
The stars fret not aglow in mellow night, 
And soft peep forth like village lights at eve ; 
The forest winds resound the melodies 
That live alone in quiet, wooded worlds; 

207 



O'er ragged mountains, plains and lapping seas, 
The silent ships float on the soundless wave ; 
The nightingale still spends his only song 
In noon of night ; and wander birds still rove, 
As in the olden times, each with his mate; 
The quiet moonlight tiptoes o'er the earth, 
Like playful water on a sandy beach; 
And wand'ring in its noiseless path of gold 
Arises olden bliss we knew ere birth, 
And silent robes of beauty deck the world, 
From tender leaf to twilight's quiet stars. — 
O lift us up, thou God of all, to love, 
Above the soulless martyrdom of things ! 
The rushing world is hungry at the heart. 



208 



BREAKING HOME TIES 

By MAX EHRMANN. 

Author of "A Prayer" and "Who Entereth Here." 



Cloth. Decorated and with frontispiece, $1.25 net. 



"The best piece of writing Max Ehrmann has done." 

— Publishers' Circular, London. 

"A beautiful thought, expressed in the noblest language in blank verse — 
this book appeals to all who have severed the ties of home and gone forth 
into the world. The youth who marches out to wage war with fortune 
will be strengthened by its reading." — Washington Star. 

"Every young man should read this book. With rare ability and de- 
lightful meter Mr. Ehrmann has depicted a father confiding in and advising 
his son on the eve of the son's departure from home. This book is unique 
among American publications, in as much as it contains, in excellent 
verse, a surprising wealth of distilled knowledge of the world, to be found 
elsewhere only in Polonius' Advice to His Son, in Burn's Cotter's Saturday 
Night, and in his Epistle to a Young Friend. With rare pathos and great 
earnestness these vigorous lines depict the experiences, trials and 
tribulations of the father as he frankly confesses his errors of judgment 
that his son may profit by his mistakes." — New York American. 

"A strong wordsworthian flavor." — Boston Budget. 

"Verses full of inspiration." — Louisville Courier- Journal. 

"Simple and wholesome." — Book News Philadelphia. 

"Fearless council in beautiful verse." — Columbus, O., State Journal. 

"Shows the author to have the true poetic instinct and to be a master 
of the technique of verse." — Seattle Post Intelligence. 

"All the qualities of classic verse." — Terre Haute Star. 

"The lines have a peculiar power." — San Francisco Bulletin. 

"Power and facility of expression." — Indianapolis Star. 



The Mystery of Madeline LeBlanc 



By MAX EHRMANN. 



Cloth. $1.00 net. 



"Powerful description— in every sense thrilling." — Dayton Daily News. 

"Distinctly original both in plot and literary style." — Toledo Blade. 

"Constructed in the heroic vein of Victor Hugo." 

— The Daily Courier, Lowell, Mass. 

"Holds honest interest to its singular conclusion." — Indianapolis News. 

"A thrilling romance, punctuated with descriptions of fascinating 
interest." — Detroit Journal. 

"In every sense a strong production — not "strung out", but moves 
with the rapidity that enlists and holds interest."— Buffalo Enquirer. 

"Well knit together, revealing imagination and power." 

—St. Paul Dispatch. 

"Here are all the accessories of the weird, yet the sympathies are ap- 
pealed to, leaving a good taste." — Minneapolis Journal. 

"Possessed of the real fire of French people." 

— Evening Wisconsin, Milwaukee. 

"The denoument is successfully concealed until the proper moment, 
when it comes upon the reader with all the requisite surprise." 
, — Philadelphia Press. 

"The plot is most ingenious, written in a style of spirit and grace." 

— The Detroit News Tribune. 

"A thrilling story ingeniously developed, holding interest to the last." 

— The Worcester (Mass.) Spy. 

"The plot is wierd, intricate and mysterious. One is carried into the 
shady regions of mystery, half unconscious." — Cleveland World. 



A FEARSOME RIDDLE 

By MAX EHRMANN 



Cloth. Illustrated, $1.25 net. 



' 'The human interest stands out in thrilling relief." — The Outlook. 
"This story shows that Mr. Ehrmann has a ready pen and an 
imagination that can make the reader's blood run cold." 

— Chicago Record-Herald. 

"In its intensity compares to Conan Doyle, but in its atmosphere gives 
something of the impression of "Frankenstein." — Los Angeles Times. 

"This is an interesting story, intensely interesting. Once you have 
read it, you think about it for many days to come. It is unique, and the 
telling so ingeniously convincing that one is inclined to believe that it is 
a plain recital of actual events. And is it? The interest is aroused, set 
to work at the very start, and kept busy holding the pace to the end. 
This absolutely original study must be a surprise to the public, and will 
direct attention to Mr. Ehrmann's future work." — Washington Star. 

"Any book bearing the name of Max Ehrmann is certain to be both en- 
tertaining and excellent. A Fearsome Riddle not only maintains, but 
heightens the author's standard." — Picayune, New Orleans. 

"A Fearsome Riddle is a mystery story that would make Sherlock 
Holmes' tales look like transparent glass. * * * * It may be said of the 
author as it was long ago said of Bandelaire: He has invented a new 
shiver. ' ' — Chicago Tribune. 

"A strange story of a master and a slave."— Boston Globe. 

"Told with great effectiveness, and so written as to get some breath- 
less results in the way of exciting interest."— St. Louis Republic. 



"Curiously interesting. Written simply and direct." 

— Philadelphia Press. 

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"The originality of the plot is the power point."— Boston Journal. 

"Greatly interesting, ingenious and new." — New York World. 

"Mr. Ehrmann's style is precise, simple, scientific, so that he invests 
a fantastic idea with an atmosphere of dry realism; the story is worth 
reading for this quiet reserve and the neatness of technique." 

— Brooklyn Eagle. 

"A powerfully written book which is creditable to Mr. Ehrmann's literary 
genius." — Buffalo Courier. 

"This author's literary progress will be watched with some interest." 

— New York Times. 

"The originality and vigor of the plot wonderfully sustain the interest." 

— Brooklyn Citizen. 

"This story is original, clever, unique; and in a startling way it 
touches the wondering faculty. The history of the professor's life, as 
related by Blanchard, makes the latter part of the story"of great interest." 

— Cleveland World. 



A FARRAGO 

By MAX EHRMANN 



Goth. $1.25 net. 



"We do not say how well Mr. Max Ehrmann has described our 
southern youth in eastern colleges, but we certainly say that he has 
given us a most lovable fellow in the person of John Francis Avonill." 

— Louisville Courier- Journal. 

"As often as heredity has been the theme for a novel, it has never 
been more subtlely employed nor more cunningly demonstrated than in 
the character of Henry Van Abering in "The Blood of The Holy Cross." 

— Washington Post. 

"An admirable book, full of life and real stories." 

— The Telegram, Baltimore. 

"The Blood of The Holy Cross" is not a religious story as the title 
suggests, but a Harvard College story, and is told with that fidelity to 
realism that one wonders whether or not it really happened." 

— Philadelphia Press. 

"As real as life itself.'' — Richmond (Va.) Times. 

"The affairs in the old Lieutenant's study and the duel on Castle Place 
are masterpieces in their line." — Boston Globe. 



"A PRAYER" 

AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
By MAX EHRMANN 



Ornamented and Decorated in Colors by Miss Agnes Watson, 

75 Cents. 



"A masterpiece." — Terre Haute Star. 

"Worthy to be engraved on granite."— Edwin Markham. 

"Delicately expressive, sweet in its sentiment, masterful in its im- 
agery, and majestic in its message." — Indianapolis Star. 

"Touchingly tender, truly poetic, and nobly prophetic."— Eugene Debs. 

"Literary critics of note have declared "A Prayer" to be a classic." 

— St. Louis Republic. 



PUBLISHED SEPARATELY IN CARD FORM 



EACH DECORATED AND COLORED 



Ji Prayer 

Who Entereth Here 
Evening Song 

Love Some One 

Jin Artist 's Prayer 

You Who Come at Evening 
Jin Easter Prayer 

The Greater Heroism 

By MAX EHRMANN 



Max Ehrmann's books, by various publishers, may be had through any 

bookseller, or direct from 



The Viquesney Publishing Company, 

TERRE HAUTE, INDIANA 



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